


Assorted This and That

by liveonanon



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Psycho-Pass, Rurouni Kenshin, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: Akashi vs Kuroko, Angry Sex, Angst, Cheating, Dress Up, Fantasizing, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Gen, Hallucinations, Hate Sex, Himura Kenshin/Sagara Sanosuke - friendship, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Introspection, Italian Mafia, Love Triangles, M/M, Masturbation, Nature, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possible Dub-Con, Power Dynamics, Semi-modern Japan - Meiji Period, Sexual Fantasy, Shinomori Aoshi/Himura Kenshin - friendship, Size Kink, Swords, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome - M/M/M, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Violent Sex, a bit of gore?, graphic violence tag added just to be extra sure, things about hearts exploding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 36
Words: 65,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveonanon/pseuds/liveonanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles based off of the 31_days themes on LJ.</p><p>Chapter list goes:</p><p>25.  [KnB, GoM/Kagami] 2014.10.03:  that's not my name<br/>26.  [KnB, GoM/Kagami] 2014.10.20:  before i knew it my words were full of wishes<br/>27.  [KnB, Kagami/Kuroko] 2014.11.01:  we must put effort and energy into anything we wish to change<br/>28.  [RuroKen, Sano/Kenshin friendship] 2015.01.20:  my shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me<br/>29.  [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #7] 2015.01.11:  if you want to help others heal, love them without an agenda<br/>30.  [KnB, HimuKaga, GoM/Kagami] 2015.02.09:  he floated in the hospital womb<br/>31.  [KnB, AkaKaga] 2015.07.01: authority carries the weight of an age pressing down on life<br/>32.  [RK, SaiKen, KenSano, AoKen, HikoKen] 2015.07.02: falsehood is so easy, truth so difficult<br/>33. [KnB, GoM+Kagami, Akashi-centric] 2016.01.12: they always name themselves<br/>34. [KnB, AoKise] 2017.05.01: but the mirror disagreed<br/>35. [KnB, GoMxKagami] 2017.10.10: these hours are as vast as stretches of sky<br/>36. [KnB, KagaKuro] 2017.10.23: There is a hunger which is always new</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [KHR, 8059]  2013.03.01:  if not famous, notorious

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by well, what else? The theme. It helps that Yamamoto is a badass, Gokudera is a slippery eel, and OCs are conveniently disposable in drabbles. Oh, and all Italian is ganked off of the net and whatever there is to a native Italian speaker, I am definitely not it.
> 
> [1] con rispetto parlando, penso che si sbagli: "with (all) due respect I think you're mistaken."
> 
> [2] diamine: certainly
> 
> [3] mano di fantasma: hand of the ghost

1\. if not famous, notorious

"This is the eighteenth time in the space of two years," the lady said. "His modus operandi is always the same. We know he disguises his swords as some sort of longish package - golf clubs, baseball equipment, camera goods, antiques - but the point is that we _never_ catch him. We never see him, he's never caught on tape, it's like he's a ghost. But if the new information we have is correct, this ghost has an additional fifty-seven cases of manslaughter on his record. That's more than the entire Coppola and Genovese Families' kills put together!"

Her hand slammed down on the table but when she looked up, she only met blank stares. Their worried looks never reached their eyes. The so-called Council, the police, nobody listened to her when she said Ghost was a threat. _Because they're all in his pocket._

 _Damn him_ , she wanted to scream. Damn him and his disappearing ways. Anger burned hot in her when another politician came up to her, trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. The man's superiors watch the two of them, eyes calculating, mouths pursed in consternation. "We know, Signorina, your brother was killed by this man. He left his calling card by his body, the broken body of another turncoat. We know his name, and we will track him." _All lies._

Wine slammed into the table harder than necessary. She tilted her head back and drank, but as always even reds took too long to sink into her blood. That was why even after imbibing a half bottle she had her gun out and ready when a man sank into the chair across from her. "Signorina," he said, holding his hands up. "Please calm down. I just thought maybe the wine needed some conversation to go with it. After all, the poor vineyard who grew those grapes probably meant for their wares to be savored."

"Who are you?" There was a slight tremor in her wrist and she clamped down on it.

"A-ah," he said in his smiling, staccato accent. Korean, or Japanese. Chinese liked to drawl, so that was out. "Maybe you were looking for another man. A ghost."

"You're him," she hissed. Her eyes darted to the side. This time was a Tomasino Hilfinger sports bag, bright red and very popular among young people. The man, dressed upscale-casual in a leather jacket and dark jeans, was deadly attractive. Did he see the blood on his hands? Did he dream of his kills? Her brother's last gasping words - what were they?

Her hopes died with the next words. "Oh non, signorina, _con rispetto parlando, penso che si sbagli_ [1]. He is but a cog in the wheel, like I am. I'm the trigger he pulls, the knife in the dark. I'm light and shadow and whatever he needs to be. I listen to him and him alone."

"Is he listening now?"

" _Diamine_ [2]." 

"He sent you?"

"I am ever his arms and legs."

"Doesn't he get fat just sitting there all the time."

The stranger had the gall to laugh. "No, you don't understand. Your ghost is always here, with you, behind you. He says your brother's last gasp was your name, signorina. He loved you very much."

" _And you killed him!_ " She shrieked and the gunshot cracked through the air. The stranger dodged, pulling the long samurai sword out of his bag as she kicked the table over and fired some more. His eyes were light gold crescents in an upside-down mirror of his friendly smile, which was still firmly pasted on his face. She fired until there were no more rounds in the revolver and her hands shook to the butt-pouch that she carried with her everywhere -

\- it should have been impossible to sink the knife through two finger's width of wood and into her stomach, but he did as if it wasn't there. Over the lip of the table she saw his forehead bob up and down and just as suddenly, the blade was ripped out of her guts, leaving a fresh red scar. Her innards would spill out, she realized. Her knees, buckled before, now refused to move. She choked on the blood that rose and splattered against the hand that pushed away the last barrier between her and the killer, this _mano di fantasma_ [3].

"You will burn," she coughed wetly.

"Hm-mm, I don't believe in your God."

"Doesn't matter. I'll still see you in hell - drag you there myself if I must." Her head was heavy, she tilted it back with the last of her strength. "You cannot run forever."

"I run from no one, especially not him." There was a tenderness in his eyes that spoke strangely of affection, even love in the face of destruction. Tears built in her eyes, from pain or admiration, she didn't know. Death, like Ghost, was unshakeable in his actions.

"Do you know," the voice whispered as her eyelids started to slide shut, "in Japan they say the sharpest, cleanest blade can still cut? Of course it can. But it isn't a matter of clean or sharp, signorina. It's a matter of will, in the end, and my will is stronger than yours."

"I don't care for your -"

"I'll bury you next to him."

A pause. "He has a name it's -"

"I know."

She gasped, organs failing, eyesight blacking out. She was dying, she knew, from a smiling man in a bar. No one had ever done anything for her, she reflected. They had only stared at her when she screamed at them that something was wrong, something was warped. They had been unattached when - didn't they see? They were already caught in a web of their own choosing.

" _Pietro, Pietro, his name is Pietro --_ "

When she was dead he took a body bag from his duffel and bundled her up, then rolled the whole thing in a blanket. People would probably think she was some sort of furniture, a grandfather clock or something. At the door Gokudera, in his politician's disguise, was standing outside, cigarette dangling from one hand and his earpiece still on his ear. He surrendered a towel to wipe of Yamamoto's bloodied hand and then, stubbing out his cigarette, drew his head down for a long kiss. Some tourists passing by tittered at the sight.

"All clear?"

"Crystal, signor consigliere."

Behind them the bartender brought out mop and bucket like he had many times before, and washed the last of her lifestains away.


	2. [KHR, gen]  2013.03.02:  do not shoot the pianist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gokudera gets hauled in for a 'favor' by the Chiavarone Family, in a rant-worthy way. Romario deals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the theme. Well, what other pissy pianist do you know in fandom?

02\. do not shoot the pianist

Romario, for all his arrogant gall, cracked a very wide smile when he heard.

"Where did you find that piece of shit pianist?!" He stalked back and forth on the plush carpet. "And where is Chiavarone anyway! I came to speak with him! Though - of course, signor, it is just as well speaking to you, you're always most accomodating."

"Signor Rossi, I assure you we meant no insult by sending Signor Gokudera -"

"- no offense taken, for the last time!"

"- but well, you see, he is a very old friend of ours. Not just a personal friend of the boss."

Signor Rossi shook his head at the thought of the quartet he'd picked and the pianist that refused to work with them. "It's just - he's impossible, Romario. Impossible! He says the piano is too small, keys aren't wide enough, range isn't enough, why can't he choose his own songs, why does he have to work with a quartet - that _cazzo_ doesn't understand anything! It's my daughter's wedding, what right does he have to choose?"

"None at all," Romario replied, still smiling that damnable smile.

" _Merda!_ That - that - inflated _prima donna_! If I don't change him out, I'm going to shoot him! Bang! In the head before he can blink!"

"Do not shoot the pianist, signor." For the first time Romario looked just a tad worried. "I'll speak to the signor about some pieces, if you like. He's probably just nervous since he hasn't played in so long. Certainly there's no problem with the quality of his playing, is there? That he's not advanced enough?"

"No," Rossi bit out grudgingly. "He's like a young Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. Just his temper, Romario, it sent my precious Mona into hysterics. She's already stressed from the wedding - oh, my poor lamb..."

Romario jotted a note into his notebook and mentally patted himself on the back for not letting his boss take this case personally. A little word to Yamamoto should do it, he thought. Gokudera was really only acting up because he hadn't played in so long. Yes, surely Yamamoto would be able to do something about that.

He smiled reassuringly at the still ranting, red-faced signor. The man would never know what a close shave he had.


	3. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #1]  2013.03.03:  the uselessness of all things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanosuke is asked to spy somewhere new, and objects. Saitou, predictably, holds all the answers close to the vest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I wrote SaiSa...but it feels good to come back to it. Picturing Sanosuke in the outfit described helps. Based halfway off of kuroiyousei's "[He Can Be Taught](http://kuroiyousei.wordpress.com/2002/06/26/he-can-be-taught-index/)" and her other work which features Sanosuke as a spy...which I don't have bookmarked orz...

03\. the useless of all things

"Yotsume!?" Sanosuke reared back as if struck. "You want me to go there? Why?" The restaurant in question was one of the higher-priced establishments in Takigawa Ward. "I can't go in there! They'll kick me out!"

"If you did something stupid like you're prone to do," Saitou drawled.

"I haven't even done anything yet! Why do you _always_ say that I'm going to -"

"Your track record leaves much to be desired."

"- alright, geez, I give. Still haven't answered why you want to meet there. What, Akabeko's suddenly to cheap for you or something? You whining for better sake?"

"...aside from the fact that I do not _whine_ for anything, Akabeko's is too obvious. And, I am attempting to expand your skill set to a location where you are unfamiliar, until you _can_ operate in that kind of environment."

Sanosuke studied his twitching feet in response. "...so you mean I'm not good enough," he said at last.

Saitou resisted the urge to sigh, because at this point it would come out a little too close to petulant. "Thus so far in your life, you have not been afforded the privilege of going into a restaurant like Yotsume. This is practice, like defense. An extension of undercover work, if you will."

The spark leapt up in Sanosuke's eyes again and this time Saitou's mental sigh was of relief. "Then that means you still need me, then. You're teaching me something new." There were lots of things he would like to teach Sanosuke, Saitou reflected, many of them off-limits. Other skill sets that Saitou would be very irritated to see performed on anyone but himself. He reminded himself that Sanosuke was still free and capable of choosing for himself, and the very first second he showed interest in Saitou that way, he could pounce - but until then, he could only dig into the trenches and wait patiently.

"If you choose to see it that way," he allowed magnanimously.

Sanosuke's grin turned into a frown. "But I don't know an 'in' at the Yotsume."

"Which is why we want to establish one."

"I have no idea about whatever fancy-smanchy manners I'm supposed to use."

"Just...stay open-minded."

Sanosuke's brow furrowed deeper. "I don't have any clothes, Saitou."

The moment of truth. Saitou held out the package, which Sanosuke took. When it revealed the dark blue kimono, black hakama, and all the trappings, Sanosuke's hands paused rather than grab greedily at the fine material. Instead, under Saitou's shrewd eye, he rubbed his thumbs in a circle over the nondescript wave pattern, and carefully set the whole thing down.

"I can't take this," Sanosuke said. He looked like the perfect picture of hangdog misery.

"Yes, you can," Saitou resisted the urge to spit the words, "and you will wear that tomorrow when you go."

"I don't even know how!"

"Then we'll do it right now." Sanosuke looked at him doubtfully. Saitou noticed his hands, which had inched towards the package, now fisted and disappeared behind his back. "We'll do it as many times as it takes until you can do it alone."

Once, when Sanosuke had just moved in under the guise of housekeeper-and-defense-pupil, he had gotten angry enough to storm out. Saitou had spent the whole night wondering if he had gone back to the drafty old shack he had called home in the West District, or if he had gotten somewhat smarter and crashed at his newspaper friend's place. _What is the point?_ , he had thought more than once. _The uselessness of all of this. Giving and not getting anything but suspicion in return._

It was no fault of Sanosuke's, though, he told himself. Saitou was plenty paranoid himself, and it had served him well on many occasions. Sanosuke was simply impaired when it came to gifts freely given, because to him they always came with a catch. 

_There is none_ , he thought as he watched Sanosuke strip down to his fundoshi. An underkimono went on first, and then the blue one. He looked different swathed in dark colors - older, like the age-old pain behind his smile.

 _I'm turning maudlin and poetic for this slip of a boy_ , Saitou grumbled internally. He made Sanosuke practice knotting the obi three times before he was satisfied. Then they went into Saitou's room where there was a very expensive Western mirror that was large enough to reflect Sanosuke head-to-toe.

"I look different," unknowingly Sanosuke echoed Saitou's sentiments from earlier. "Like...I'm worth something."

There were many things Sanosuke could be in this guise. A servant, pouring drinks. A fine dinner companion that was always outshone by his partner. A young man, green behind the ears, seeking company for the night. A purveyor of fine food. A little up or down on his luck, depending on the looker. 

A male courtesan, spread on the futon, each layer coming apart to flash bronze, sun-kissed skin in the light of the flickering lantern, full lips that parted as his whole body opened for Saitou to taste -

\- belated he realized he was staring at the back of Sanosuke's neck, where his brown hair met skin. It could be a sensitive spot, like it was for most animals. Maybe if he put his hand there Sanosuke would shudder and lower his head obediently like a cowled bird. Maybe tonight, Saitou would know if he would _submit_.

Instead, they practiced dressing until Sanosuke nodded and said he had it down, and then without a midnight wank Saitou meditated until the urge was gone.

The next night, swiveling heads caught the sight of the two of them settling down on the cushions. Saitou met each and ever gaze, even as Sanosuke stopped yanking on his sleeves and began puzzling over the kanji on the hanging menu instead.

He glared until even the most interested looked away. Sanosuke chattered as Saitou drew back, satisfied at his claim. Yes, Sanosuke - hair brushed, eyes laughing, lips upturned - was _his_.


	4. [Psycho-Pass, KouGino]  2013.03.04:  a thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat's out of the bag: they're an item. Kougami steels himself for Masaoka's disapproval - and finds it surprisingly absent. The old man's faith is admirable but in the end...Kougami hadn't ever gotten what he really wanted by giving up on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I think Masaoka's "hurt him and die" speech should have been a bit more...threatening. But I also think that in many ways, Kougami was what Ginoza was not, and that in itself set them apart, and not in a bad way, despite what Ginoza thinks.

04\. a thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it

It had taken exactly one look the morning after for Masaoka to know. And it had taken exactly one more look from him, to his son, and then back, for Kougami to freeze and sit down in his chair, very quietly and slowly. Masaoka regarded him for a long moment before turning away, and on the other side of the partion, Ginoza breathed a barely audible sigh of relief.

Later - because Kougami wasn't going to hide, not when the secret was already out - he found Masaoka tapping out a sprightly rhythm to some song against the metal railing of the balcony with two equally metal fingers. Ginoza had studiously avoided his eyes all day, scurrying and snapping at everyone in sight, then cooling down with muttered apologies. Kougami believed in getting the whole mess over with and so very bodily steeled himself and tapped a cigarette out. 

"Here," Masaoka said. He held out a flame and the cherry glowed when Kougami sucked in. The fast-flapping breeze carried the smoke away into the sky.

"What did it take for him to finally say yes? Was it the last injury? Narrow scrapes in the field? Late night reminiscing in the car? Unfortunate 'training accident' in the gym?"

Kougami's teeth ground down on the filter. "Would it be bad at this point to say 'all of the above'?"

Masaoka, for all his gall, laughed heartily. "Then that would mean your life reads like a bad BL manga. Ah, I didn't even know young love still worked that way!"

"We're both twenty-six already."

"As I said, young love."

"Glad to see some things don't change generation to generation."

"Is that so bad?" Masaoka actually sounded curious. "You and him - romance - love. There should be something good and irrational at the base of human nature and behavior, don't you think?"

 _I think you're full of crock_ and _Understanding love doesn't exactly help with investigations_ both played at the tip of his tongue, but Kougami swallowed them back down. "It doesn't play in the hands of the System," he said finally.

"The System can go fuck itself," Masaoka said calmly. Kougami jerked at the foul word. "I would bend over backwards if it protected the two of you like it should. I would die right now to ensure these days stayed the same until you were both tottering old men holding hands in a nursing home. Nobuchika would just scorn all of this, but - well. Sometimes it feels like I have two sons."

Kougami stared at him then, at the calm way he stood, lit up by the sunset. The end of his cigarette flared when he inhaled, and exhaled in wisps of gray. Ash crumbled to the sidewalk below and he thought of the argument that it was only when they rested on the knife-edge of calamity, that fragile things were the most beautiful.

His mind was blank as his eyes rested on the scene - blood fading to black on the pavement, Ginoza's green eyes filling like a tap that couldn't be turned off. Only once had Masaoka touched him outside of a violent situation and then it had only been when Shion found out and Ginoza had refused contact with him for a whole month. A hand in his hair, his human one, tousling back and forth roughly. "Go on, get the car," Masaoka had said, his voice the same steady grind that reminded Kougami of old coffee mills, and the scent of something timeless.

"Totssan -" he bit off. Ginoza trembled abortively, Dominator forgotten, hands on his father's chest. His mouth was open to say - Kougami didn't know what. Masaoka stared ahead, old bird bones broken for good, whatever guidance he might have for the two of them laid forever to rest. _He remembers real love_ , Kougami thought. _The kind of love that sparks bright and fast. The kind of love that drives people crazy._

If he really loved Ginoza he wouldn't hesitate, he would go over there and wrap him in his arms, hold him until their tears were spent and they were once again reduced to zero, to mere children in a world of hurt.

He flinched, gritted his teeth, and ran on.


	5. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #2]  2013.03.05:  a simile committing suicide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanosuke, the spy, in a very nice new disguise. No matter what the final disappointment, Saitou has a warped appreciation for the dichotomies he finds of the character outside, and the personality within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based halfway off of kuroiyousei's "[He Can Be Taught](http://kuroiyousei.wordpress.com/2002/06/26/he-can-be-taught-index/)", along with some of her other works featuring Sanosuke as a spy, all of which I adore.

There was a young woman coming towards him. Saitou marked her features - short brown hair, hidden under a scarf; a soft green kimono woven around her form. She toed off her sandals elegantly at the door and softly thanked the shopkeeper for moving them out of the way. Then she paused at the dining room, eyes roving, sparkling in the light.

She shuffled her way slowly around the alcoves of people catching up at the end of the day. Portly businessmen rubbing elbows with politicians; newlywed nouveau riche with their wives; people from the lower strata celebrating in style for once. The young woman looked like she fit in, eyes down, peeking side-to-side for her dining partner. When she was led to Saitou, she settled in front of him in the picture-perfect style of a young, upper-class maiden going to the resident policeman with her troubles.

Instead, when he looked up, her eyes were murderous. Her mouth was filthy as well when she hissed, "You've gotta be kidding me, cricket bastard." The flimsy impression of anything but a coarse denizen of the slums fell flat as she almost - almost! - rolled up her sleeves to start eating. Saitou would have bet ten gold ryou on the fact the girl had a cord in her sleeve to help tie those sleeves back like some sort of servant.

"I do not joke."

"Yeah - that's a lie, by the way."

"I do not lie."

"Uh-huh, you and your misdirection nonsense. Hurry up and dig in, old man, my ankles are starting to cramp and I don't know how long I can hold this position."

Saitou's gaze flickered lazily up to the heart-shaped face. Normal brown spikes had been tamed with a matching wig. Butch shoulder muscles had been hidden under layers of silk. In this guise, Sanosuke's neck seemed delicate and swanlike, though he had taken many of Saitou's blows. As Sanosuke had commented on, he had started to fidget, whether from the _seiza_ position or Saitou's stare, he wasn't sure.

"You'll stay there until I say you can move."

"Man, this blows. Second time we meet in a restaurant like this and I have to be trussed up like some sort of glorified chicken with a flower on top -"

"Obviously you know nothing of fine cuisine."

"When would I have the time to know something like that?" Sanosuke grumbled. Carefully he pushed up his sleeves - he had long fingers that Saitou dreamed of sometimes, wrapped around less innocent things - and started to eat after Saitou took his first bite. They got through the first course, Sanosuke comments about the food interjected between his reports on various politicians and notables within Edo, Saitou offering nothing more than occasional questions and terse grunts in answer.

"I still don't know why I couldn't have worn the same kimono-hakama set from last time. It's a different restaurant, on a different side of town. Nobody would notice!" He started to slurp his soup in too-obvious enjoyment before Saitou gave him a warning glare.

"Someone might."

"Has anyone ever told you you're freaking paranoid?"

 _Many_ , Saitou considered saying, _and all of my former lovers._ He might have enjoyed the spluttering and the red face as Sanosuke waved his arms to dismiss the image of Saitou _in flagrante delicto_ with anyone else.

"Some," he allowed. "They usually don't live very long."

"Is that a threat, mister jackass?"

"Language," Saitou tutted. Sanosuke only shot him the very barest minimal of his wolfish grin over the table.

And then their hotpot exploded. Saitou went for his sword at once while Sanosuke, still in keeping with his persona. screamed and covered himself with his arms. The rest of the patrons unanimously rushed for the exit, creating a stampede for belongings and geta while Saitou stalked to the kitchen, a frilly, flowery, and abnormally tall girl in tow.

After his assassination neurosis had been sufficiently appeased (but not diverted in the least) with a demonstration that eggs in tightly enclosed and heated spaces tended to explode, he dragged the fidgeting girl back out into the dining room, where she collected her belongings. Some of the other hotpots hadn't burned out just yet and he caught her looking towards some of them wistfully. "That one looks spicy. Why couldn't we get that one?" she mourned.

"Because I don't like spicy food."

"Don't see why I have to put up with your stupid food preferences."

"You're the one who's following me along."

"Only because you haven't let go of my hand since our food decided it wanted to decorate the walls," Sanosuke commented drily back.

Saitou paused. Indeed, his hand was still attached to Sanosuke's wrist. With a good three fingerlengths of sun-kissed skin exposed at the sleeve, any stranger could have guessed Sanosuke was no woman. Or, at least that this buff woman practiced martial arts on a day-to-day basis. At the sight of those long fingers lying limp and half-curled, Saitou let go as if burned. 

That was the problem, really. Sanosuke was no woman and had no need to be wooed like one. Yet for all of Saitou's guile and prowess on the battlefield, all of his actions had turned out protective and possessive instead of lustful and desirous like he intended. Even this dream of Sanosuke's brown eyes hidden under a wig, a oversized kimono slipping down his shoulder from the scramble back to Saitou's place, had turned into something platonic.

 _Maybe the gods are mocking me._ A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. _Or laughing at me._

They barely made it in time before the deluge really started to pour. In the entranceway Sanosuke started to strip, hands finding the obijime, the obi, the expensive silk and tearing it all open. The fake cloth padding was tossed to the ground, the pins in his hair discarded left and right until there was only a male, bronzed and muscled, standing in the foyer in his fundoshi. Sanosuke picked up the clothes and without a glance at Saitou, strode off into 'his' room. The door slid shut with a final _click_ as Sanosuke whistled while he hung up the clothes to dry.

And that, Saitou sighed inwardly, was the end of the fantasy of Sanosuke in his bed, pinned to the sheets as Saitou's hand snuck under the thick layers of fabric. Resisting the urge to check up on his housekeeper-cum-student-cum-spy-in-training, he instead trudged to the kitchen for a cigarette and a nightcap.


	6. [KHR, 27All, 8059, D18, RyoHana, KyokoAll]  2013.03.06:  all art is immoral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambo draws a interesting picture that can be taken many, many ways that Haru decides to pin to the refrigerator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I think the inherent "everyone x everyone" syndrome from Kuroko no Basket is rubbing off on me in every single fandom now. I never used to imagine KHR as some sort of...big lovefest, but now...my initial impressions have been overturn. I'm sure somewhere down there, Kyoko isn't as innocent as she seems. The others? I suspect they haven't changed at all since I last touched this fandom a year ago...

6\. all art is immoral

"That's so cute!" Haru squealed as she clipped the picture to the refrigerator, ignoring the other people in the kitchen who were staring it in various states of disbelief, amusement, and disgust.

"Haru, do you know what that picture is of?" Bianchi asked. She was one of the amused ones.

"Of course! It's two of those UFO crop circles, isn't it? Like the ones in America that flatten the cornfields every year? I've always wanted to see one of those - Lambo, you did such a good job!"

"Shouldn't cornfields be green?" Tsuna asked faintly, scrabbling for tissues or paper towels to wipe up his nosebleed. Bianchi gave him a look over and decided he didn't need help, growing boys were just growing boys. It was about time he came into his libido anyway; from what she had read about Giotto, he had been quite the beast in his twenties. Tsuna would get to 'comforting' all of his Guardians in time like his predecessor, she was sure. 

"Hmm, yes. But well, they shouldn't be purple either."

\------------

"Vuoooi!" Squalo yelped loudly as he entered the kitchen. A uncontrolled flail barely missed Yamamoto and instead knocked down a container of napkins. Yamamoto discretely straightened them as Squalo took a better look at the picture clipped to the fridge. "Who drew this crap? Why would you even want to draw a picture of a training target anyway! Much less two of them!"

"Haha, I don't know," Yamamoto replied, confused himself. He had always thought they looked like the gun sights for the FPS games that he and Gokudera played on the weekend, but he had never been sure. "I heard Lambo's the one who drew it, so maybe they're not targets after all."

As Squalo ranted about brats needing extra training (but sat down very eagerly at the table when Yamamoto offered to cook him dinner), the Rain Guardian took one last glance at the picture. If it weren't purple, the circle with the dot in the middle reminded him a little of the cap on the lube in his nightstand. Oh, speaking of, he really needed to replace that, didn't he? Gokudera always got pissed when it was more than half gone.

\------------

"Wha - that's indecent!" Despite his words, Dino peered closer at the refrigerator. "Wow. It was just like Squalo said, it looks like breasts." Hibari hit him hard for that - not with the tonfas, because they were inside and he hated mess, just with his fist. Dino whimpered piteously but Romario didn't move from the kitchen door, just made his way to the corner to prepare coffee for himself and Dino, and tea for Hibari.

Hibari, who had heard from Sasagawa Ryouhei who had heard from Yamamoto Takeshi, had thought Squalo believed the picture to be of training targets. "They're purple," he noted tonelessly.

"Yeah well - alien breasts, then." That didn't merit a blow. That didn't merit _any_ kind of reaction except plain, simple ignoring. Romario, the bastard, twitched his mustache. "You don't think they look like aliens, Hibari? Maybe glob ones that look like those crap-piles that Lambo likes to draw, except from the top. Hey, maybe it _is_ an alien - like a change of perspective or something!"

Hibari shoved him over the table as Romario took that very moment to quietly let himself out of the kitchen. Dino laughed in surprise, breathless. Hibari made it a point to make that not-breathing-period as he jammed one thigh between Dino's legs and ground down. They kissed, if it could be called kissing - Hibari might have called it a lesson in aggressive physical persuasion, if he didn't know how much better it was they stayed within familiar patterns - and in no time the clothes were gone and he was rolling his hips to the pant of his name from Dino's lips, "Kyou- _ya_ , ohh, Kyou- _ya_ , ohh..."

By the time they finished the picture was forgotten and the twin mugs of tea and coffee on the counter were cold.

\--------------

"That _is_ indecent!" Gokudera ranted as he took in the picture. Next to him Sasagawa Ryouhei nodded vigorously. Between the two men, Kyoko looked simply confused.

"Why? They're just flowers, aren't they?"

The two men stared at her and she blinked back and forth. "I mean, they look like morning glories to me. Don't they look like morning glories to you? Poor Lambo," she said sadly. "He was probably remembering Nana-san's garden. She always had the prettiest flowers in the back."

The two men now shared a glance. "Uh, right." Gokudera gulped down the whole rant he had planned of _All art is immoral!_ that he had been ready to spew. Next to his sister, Ryouhei shuffled so his boner wasn't immediately visible to her, not that she would have cared (she knew his training habits too well, including his tendency to wank off right after practice). "Flowers. They uh, must smell nice or something."

Kyoko thought for a moment. "Actually they don't. From what I remember, they don't really smell like anything."

"I have to go study," her brother said all of a sudden. "Study - uh, machinery! Science! With uh, Adelheid-sanbecauseshe'ssosmart yeah! Bye!"

"I'm pretty sure Adelheid-san likes Kozato-kun," Kyoko said after he was gone. "He doesn't really have a chance with her. And doesn't he usually train with Lussuria-san anyway?"

Gokudera's mouth flapped incoherently at her astuteness. "Wha - how - you know about that? I'm not, you know, _sure_ but I'm pretty sure they only snogged each other once in public! And what about that friend of yours, Hana or whatever?"

"Oh, Hana-chan likes onii-san, that's for sure. She's just waiting for his biological clock to stop firing in all directions and settle down. She also wants to experiment a little herself too, you know." There was a kind of knowing twinkle in her eye as she said that and inadvertently Gokudera took a step back.

"You...and...huh?" He sounded so bewildered that Kyoko tinkled a laugh.

"What about you, Gokudera-kun? How are you and Yamamoto-kun? Still going steady?" As Gokudera's face flamed into an impressive shade of flabbergasted turnip red, she couldn't help but poke a little more. "I heard sometimes rings help, you know. They represent permanency and solidarity." She looked at his hand pointedly.

"We - er - that is - I have too many rings already." He held up both hands, where indeed there were some twenty rings in all, his Box Rings nestled along the other rings he had collected over the years. Furthermore, his Storm Ring was nestled securely where his marriage or engagement band would usually sit, as a testament to how devoted he was to his Family.

"Oh, not all rings have to be worn on your hands," Kyoko said coquettishly. Gokudera stared at her in mute confusion for a moment before he practically scrambled for the door.

" _What the hell_ YOU! What have you done with the Tenth's fiancee!? She - you're - Kyoko-san's innocent and wouldn't know any of these things!" he yelped. The door opened to reveal his sister. "GAH!" he screamed as he ran down the hall. Kyoko's laughter followed him.

"What was that all about?" Bianchi asked.

"Hm-mm, just boys being boys."

\-----------

"Why'd she choose that one to put up?" I-Pin tilted her head to the side. "It looks...like a purple meatbun."

"It's not a purple meatbun!" Lambo declared. "It's this." He held out the grape lollipop to her.

"I don't see it."

"Like this." He held the stick between thumb and forefinger and almost poked her overlarge forehead. Still, I-Pin tilted her head both ways and then squinted before she saw the circle with the dot in the middle, the circle being the circumference of the candy and the dot being the stick of the lollipop when it was aimed right at her eye.

"Oh. But why were the grown-ups making such a big fuss out of it?"

"Dunno. Grown-ups are just weird about art."


	7. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse B #1]  2013.03.07:  prayer must never be answered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder at the Akabeko sends Yahiko on a very familiar path that Saitou can see. He sends someone who understands after him.

The rain falls mercilessly on umbrellas, on uniforms, on skin. Behind them the charred remains of the Akabeko stand lopsided, as if gusted by a huge wind. Inside pots and pans clink and clatter as the raindrops fall down on them. Saitou watches as Sanosuke discreetly wipes his eyes on one sleeve, though his face doesn't change. It is stony and dark like the clouds above that ripple lightning now and then.

The dojo brat - Yahiko, Saitou's encyclopedic brain supplies - weeps in the mud, his girlfriend's body broken in his arms. Somewhere in Saitou's mind he recognizes that this was probably love, maybe even the kind of ancient, forever-kind of love that he comes home to every night. Very carefully he meets Sanosuke's gaze, then turns back to the scene where the blood is slipping through the rocks and one of the girl's slippers has started to drift away in the deluge.

Himura brings it back, his red hair matted under his umbrella, and replaces it on her foot. "What do we know?" he asks, and under the boy's sobs Saitou tells him about her, and the restaurant owner's debt, and how he borrowed from the wrong people. Normal things, if one was to judge by his occupation. _In the wrong place, at the wrong time._

Himura tells the boy and later Yahiko himself appears in his office, properly dried off and in his best kimono and hakama set. "I want to join the investigation," he says, and Saitou imagines what this boy will pay to join the police right now, to be in the midst of everything. His heart, bleeding and torn. Maybe his whole life, his whole soul.

"Maybe," he allows, and the boy, seeing he won't get anything more, runs out of the office. Sanosuke comes in seconds after, jerks a thumb after his friend, and rushes out too. 

He remembers from years before, a boy with glittering brown eyes who asked him for the very same thing. Saitou had said no. Saitou had told him he was useless, that he knew nothing of spying, nothing of investigation. That he was loud, and uncouth, and unskilled. Sanosuke had almost gotten himself killed and Saitou had actually died for several minutes before the kitsune girl brought him back to life.

He had woken up bandaged in places he hadn't been bandaged before, his body an unmovable mess. Sanosuke had moved into his house to take care of him carefully, without complaint, biting back all his foolish comments even when Saitou goaded him, and didn't look at him in the eye for three months. Sometimes he cried; Saitou saw the redness around his eyes. But after that spell was gone, the boy had become a man.

Now they've lived together long enough that Saitou knows that look. _I know_ , Sanosuke said with that one glance. _He'll be a child for a little longer, if we've got anything to say about it._

Saitou leans back in his chair; the incident is likely in the best hands possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet continuation for this verse waaaay in the future is [here](http://ansibs.livejournal.com/62956.html).


	8. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #3]  2013.03.08:  there is no red rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saitou gets a bit beaten up. Sanosuke patches him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half based off of kuroiyousei's "[He Can Be Taught](http://kuroiyousei.wordpress.com/2002/06/26/he-can-be-taught-index/)". Sanosuke isn't quite mopey and OOC here...but maybe some people will think he's a bit too introspective (including me *sigh*).

The clink of a razor, bandages, and various packets of medicine that the Megumi kept Saitou's first aid box well stocked with was the only thing that could be heard in the room, other than the background noise of the rain falling. Sanosuke cleaned the cut on Saitou's arm with very light fingertips, barely touching the skin at all. Blood oozed sluggishly, but when Sano pressed the back of his hand against the side of the cut, it wasn't overheated. There was no infection.

Saitou's skin on the inside of his arm was lighter than the outside, not that the cricket-bastard was anything more than pasty-white. He wondered if he had ever been called 'ghost' when he was young. Scratch that, he couldn't imagine Saitou Hajime as a child period.

That skin was also peppered with training scars, sprinkled everywhere. Fascinated, Sanosuke turned the arm to the front, where among the sparse black arm-hairs were more scars. They gleamed and flickered like living snakes in the lamplight. He imagined tracing them with his tongue to see if they were upraised like his.

"Ahou," Saitou said. His gaze was intense and once Sanosuke met it, it wouldn't let him go. "What are you doing?"

Wordlessly Sanosuke bound up the arm and then moved to the back. Obligingly Saitou let the top of the kimono drape down, exposing more bandages. Sanosuke unwound those, sticking them in a bowl of steaming hot water to be washed and dried later, and concentrated on the wound now. A narrow scrape with (another) burning building had left Saitou's left side a mess of tissue, though Megumi had assured the both of them that it would recover all movement, even if the skin would no longer be flawless.

"You're pale." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He smeared burn salve over the mess. The first touch always made Saitou flinch - Sanosuke wondered why - but he always made himself relax, until it was just them and the candlelight, flickering over the set of Saitou's jaw. Sanosuke wondered, sometimes, when he was crazy enough, what it might be to run alongside the wolf in every single way.

"As I keep that part of me covered most of the time, yes." The rebuke for Sanosuke's perchant for taking odd construction and manual labor jobs was in there somewhere.

Sanosuke shrugged, and belatedly realized Saitou couldn't see it. "At least it's honest work."

"And you are all about honesty."

 _What's that supposed to mean?_ A vibration of alarm frissioned up his spine. It racketed up a notch when Saitou faced him, using his good arm to shuffle him around. Now the light turned the edges of his ponytail to orange.

Then he reached out and grasped Sanosuke's knee and squeezed. The healing wound there protested for a second before he batted Saitou's hand away. "Did you think you could hide this from me? I've told you time and time again, that injuries need time to heal. That your kitsune-girl's advice is sound. Yet I know you have doubled your katas in the morning."

"What, you've got a spy after the spy?" Sanosuke grumbled. It was moot to hope that Saitou wouldn't see the relief in his face, but at least Sanosuke could hope that he read it for resignation.

"Your marks are too obvious, ahou."

"Yeah well, you should have been a teacher. Got eyes in the back of your head or whatever." Well, it certainly felt that way all the time.

"Yes, I think we've established that I have eyes." And they were drawing Sanosuke in, like the lips he couldn't touch, the wounds he couldn't lick, the dreams that left him doing laundry early in the morning. Touches he couldn't guard against and always dreamed would linger, that that gaze would smoulder and catch fire, that Saitou would send him crashing down in a ball of flames like a blazing zeppelin.

But Saitou only moved away, one arm jerking awkwardly to put the tools back in place. "Bandage your own wounds too, ahou, and don't try to hide them from me again," he said in his sensei-voice. Sanosuke sighed, the heat between his legs withering to nothing, and if Saitou took it for an expression of annoyance, Sanosuke didn't correct him.


	9. [KnB, HimuKaga]  2014.07.03:  how can I take from you and not keep taking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baka-Himuro, baka-siblings thing that I always wanted to write. Enjoy some hackneyed cliche imagery about Kagami/suns/celestial beings, Himuro's goddamn inability to decide or let go of anything, and angst, angst, angst.
> 
> (tl;dr Himuro reflects how he keeps taking advantage of Kagami's kindness.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh honestly? Like older brother, like younger, you're both dumbasses. Himuro's just the smart/selfish dumbass (if that makes any sense). I really meant for this to be happy, but of course it came out like every other HimuKaga fic out there - knotty, complicated, and intense. It's not my fault. These two just stare too long and too longingly at each other for me NOT to get ideas.

3\. How can I take from you and not keep taking?  
2014.07.03

He thinks he knows the first time they sat together, ice creams in hand, kicking the basketball back and forth. No rings, no promises - just Tatsuya and Taiga, two Japanese boys on LA black top, sweating a little from the summer heat but mostly keeping cool, trying to _be_ cool, talking about NBA stars and games as if they knew what they were seeing past _amazing_ and _awesome_.

He thinks he knows when he finishes his first and Taiga offers his, no guile, no hesitation, and Tatsuya takes a big crunchy bite out of the baked cone and cookies 'n cream. It melts in his mouth and he thinks its sweeter somehow when offered freely, like Taiga's time, Taiga's budding interest, Taiga's look of hunted curiosity as he tries out some new move.

He's hit by the idea again when they meet Alex and she tells him they're gonna throw a surprise birthday party for Taiga at her house, though all the people she's inviting are old (Tatsuya wrinkles his nose at that, but she's old too, can't be helped). They bring little things like shorts and shirts with "I <3 LA" and one guy from the Knicks brings an actual ball that's signed that Taiga goes crazy-insane over and says he'll never play with it.

"That's a waste," Tatsuya says when the party's over. "Balls are made to be played with. And if you don't keep it pumped up all the way, the signatures will go all weird when the ball deflates."

"Okay but just sometimes," Taiga says with the same scrunched-up face he gets when a new recipe doesn't turn out right. 

At the court he does it again, holding the ball out. "Err, you're taller and better...I think it deserves a good basket first."

"Thank you," Tatsuya says politely, and sinks it. When he looks back there's a smile on Taiga's face, but it flickers and disappears just as something moves in Tatsuya's stomach, coiling and recoiling, some strange urge to grab tape and keep it stuck there, though that would look ridiculous. He tries it anyway and cracks up when Taiga says he looks stupid, _Why'm I even doing this?_

"Same reason you let me fling cake at you," he says with all the batted-eye charm that has Tatsuya's mom's friends swooning, but all Taiga does is lob his new basketball at Tatsuya's neck. He cracks up again.

Three years and three birthdays later Taiga is passed out on his couch with his head in Tatsuya's lap and Tatsuya wonders how much more he has to give. He already gives Tatsuya his everything on the court, jumping higher, running faster, fist pumping when he scores, grin a slash brighter than California sunshine - so bright Tatsuya can't help but smile back. 

He snuffle-snores. Tatsuya files away the evidence on his phone. Taiga's ring weighs strangely heavy in his palm, though his rational brain knows it's no heavier than Tatsuya's own. There; proof he has given back too.

But even off the court, Tatsuya realizes he wants more.

Would Taiga give him this? He studies the plain silver band. It doesn't matter if they haven't seen each other for ages, Taiga kept it all these years. They had fallen into their old habits without a blink, as if Tatsuya was still teacher/friend/brother and Taiga the sun that followed him. They had come this far step by step. This is just another.

He leaves that day cool and composed though his heart is thumping hot, hot lava-blood and his ring is burning around his neck too. He leaves Taiga snoring on the couch. He leaves with the knowledge birthday cake tastes sweeter stolen from Taiga's lips.

He jerks off that night thinking _Don't be stupid he wouldn't go this far_ but there is a part of him that is creeping and hopeful that wonders. And stalkerish the next weekend, but all Taiga does is practice in front of his house instead of calling one of his friends, going out to eat, seeing some girl.

(But he looks sunny-happy.)

He comes up with a list of why he's right:

1\. Because Taiga's first love is basketball  
2\. Because Taiga's not interested in girls or boys or sex  
3\. Because Taiga was fine for years without me  
4\. Because Taiga's not interested in me

But the wondering part doesn't shut up and when it all turns ugly, it still whispers from time to time about the one that stranded him on the LA blacktop with a one-sided promise, frozen in time. Without Taiga on the other side, his team easily wins rights to the streetball court.

The ice stays until Japan, streetball, Winter Cup, Yousen's defeat, and finally melts when he sees the ring is hanging around Taiga's neck again. Because he _is_ Taiga, student/friend/brother stretched over endless time, space, and universes, and like circling predators, circling stars and planets, his eyes snag on Taiga and can't let go.

His blood boils and hums as words fall, comet stones, shooting stars, sunflares. Even as he says _I can't be your brother anymore_ his insides bleed and scream.

_How could I take from you and not keep taking?_

Taiga is burned on the backs of his eyelids again when he tries to rest, the low red glare of his Zone, the effortlessly sweet sweep of power that sucked Tatsuya, Atsushi, everyone in his wake. He is beautiful and delicious and the taste of cheap birthday cake rises to the tongue when he thinks of forgiveness and chokes him. Then he remembers Taiga follows another now, invisible, clean-pressed, straightforward and blunt, and he chokes the thought of _Us_ right back.

(5. I was never Taiga's type at all)

By morning he has gotten as far as _> > I think I have always loved you_ in the message field of his phone, but that's only because he doesn't know Taiga's mail address anyway. Then he rolls over and fails to sleep on the hotel bed for a few more hours.

He never sends it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy-end sequel where Kagami nags Himuro until they get together?


	10. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #4]  2014.07.05: Is there any room in my heart for you to follow your heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanosuke catches wind of a new government program. Saitou does not approve of being alarmed, nervous, sad, resigned, or well-played against his will. He's _supposed_ to be in perfect control of himself at all times.
> 
> The only thing that saves Sanosuke is that he has no idea what he's doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this work and all RuroKen scribbles hereafter to the marvelous [kuroiyousei](http://kuroiyousei.wordpress.com/), who is a horrible horrible terrible horrible enabler that reminded me I haven't drabbled in a while and that I should probably get back on that. No RST or sudden realizations - sorry Saitou, Sano. Just a regular cricket and horny ahou here.
> 
> (Also, this was totally inspired by Eguchi Yosuke's voice, which is so smooth and so totally hawt. Can't wait to hear it again at the end of this month!)

5\. Is there room in my heart for you to follow your heart?

"Chou says the guy above that other-other guy said that the police commissioner got news from some English dude who knows this other German dude that there's some new government program that's been cooked up."

Saitou's head came up sharply. "Don't you mean 'cocked up'?"

"Ah - no." _Please, please don't be a traitorous body right now, please don't get hard - aw fuck._ As casually as he could he sauntered into the only seat in front of Saitou's desk and threw himself into it. Hard, which was painful because ow, Saitou obviously meant to punish anybody who fucked up badly enough to warrant seeing him in his office. Unfortunately it didn't really seem to do anything for Little Sanosuke. "I mean, the government supposedly came up with something smart this time."

Thankfully - oh so thankfully - Saitou's eyes flickered back down in disinterest. "The young mens program. What about it."

"If I said I wanted to go, would you sponsor me?"

And then Sanosuke froze, because Saitou froze, and that was never a good sign. Saitou only froze when Sanosuke did something very good or something very bad, and knowing himself, ninety-nine percent of the time it was the latter. He resisted the urge to swallow and cover his balls - not because of the boner he had been popping, but because now in hysterically direct opposite it felt like his penis was trying to shrink into his body - and then rode out the next urge, which was to dash for the door and hope he didn't get stabbed again in the process.

Finally the pen started moving again. Slower than before. "Yes," Saitou said, but there was a wealth of tones and undercurrents that Sanosuke couldn't pinpoint.

He made a frustrated, impatient noise. "What that does that mean?"

Saitou's brow bunched a little. "Yes, I would sponsor you," he clarified slowly as if to a small child.

Sanosuke waved it aside. "I get that. I mean how much? Travel expenses only? Shelter only? Clothes only? Education only? You've got three boys of your own though none of them are old enough -"

"Neither are you," he distinctly heard Saitou mutter.

"What the hell are you talking about, yes I am, I double-checked the limitations yesterday and -"

" _Mentally_." But the joke fell strangely flat, probably because Saitou was still staring down at his paper. Sanosuke tried to subtly peer at what was so riveting. Strange, it looked to just be the budget for the drug bust a week ago -

Ah. Maybe it was time to grovel a little more. "Uh, I hope what I did on the Makishima case doesn't disqualify me. Because I was doped hard and I don't remember anything and I _really_ think that shouldn't be held against me -"

"No, ahou, I've already told you the consequences of you breaking in before my signal, getting captured, beaten, and drugged to the gills. Or was yesterday's practice not enough on your backside?"

Oh no, it had been quite enough - too much, if truth be told, to have the thin, scimitar slice of Saitou's sneer greeting him every time he threw him down again and again in _every position possible_ so Sanosuke could review what he learned. It was just unfortunate every time Saitou bent over him, all glittering eyes and rough hands, Sanosuke thought of other things, which meant he had to chant his _Boner, boner go away_ motto that never worked, but at least thoughts of cat samurai distracted him enough to laugh. Which meant Saitou had thrown him _extra hard_ until he passed out.

He winced at the reminder of the damage he had accumulated. But at least being able to do katas meant he was mostly healed. "I didn't ask to be drugged. I thought you needed an inside man."

"I already had an inside man. When you were captured, he pleaded for clemency for you, and you called him a frog-faced shit-eating motherfucker."

"I was drugged! And I meant an inside man as in not undercover, just _inside the building_. Since I'm learning to pick locks now!"

"Good to know the taxpayer's hard-earned money is going to a good cause," Saitou noted dryly.

Finally he had returned to his usual sardonic tone. Sanosuke tried to not let his relief show, but he suspected with Saitou it was a moot point, the man noticed everything. Everything about this whole conversation was so strange, though; it was just an innocent question, after all. Simple deduction of facts. "It's also be spending lots towards this young mens program or whatever. So how much would you give me? Enough for travel around the world once? A roof over my head? Three meals a day?"

"I am already paying for your living expenses."

"And I am _re_ paying you in house chores. And the right to use me as a punching bag whenever you like."

For some reason that made Saitou's lips tighten further; Sanosuke wisely dropped the matter with haste. "Anyways, they're supposed to ship out next spring for the great unknown. Think that's enough time to get used to Western dress and manners and stuff? Not to mention language, it's probably gonna be a pain, I wonder if the people going are all rich kids with foreign tutors and regularly do tinkle-music on the big black thing -"

"It's called a 'pianoforte'."

"- yeah, that, so. Can't picture myself doing that but I think it'd be interesting since nobody's really done it before. Who knows what kind of weird things we'll find there? What kind of strange history and customs? They say the people who go now are gonna be famous when they come back bringing knowledge from the West."

For the first time in the conversation Saitou met his eyes. His face looked long and sober - not that didn't usually, just now it was extra-long and extra-sober. "Is that why you want to go?"

"For fame? Hell no, I've seen what that does to you and Kenshin."

"Then why."

Sanosuke propped his chin onto the backs of his hands. "You don't get tired of seeing the same scenery over and over again? The same people? I mean - look at the government. The corrupt are corrupt and in power, the citizens below are always hungry and looking for an out, and then there's a ton of people caught in between. Don't you ever wonder if there's a better way? A way we haven't tried, hadn't thought about because we're too close to the problem?"

"I think you will find every country has its problems. No country is perfect."

"But the people. People make up the country. And people can change over time if we give them the right push. Isn't what this program wants to do? Wants to make a change?"

Saitou set his brush down. "You like change?"

"When it's necessary."

"And when it is not?"

Sanosuke started to reply and then stopped. Saitou usually kept his gloves off while he was writing, but now he drew them out of the desk and tugged them on with quick, almost angry jerks. Evidently Sanosuke had paused for too long, because the cop gave him a questioning look as if to say _Well?_ , but Sanosuke still couldn't think of anything of what to say. He had only realized now that he was walking (well, talking) through a moral minefield, and probably should have tread a little more carefully. When Saitou blew up, he blew up _big time_ , and it would be a downright embarrassing throwback to his old kenkaya days if Sanosuke came crawling back to Megumi with new injuries only after only a week.

And there was something - _something_ \- measuring, sizing him up in the patient, stalking-wolf way Saitou regarded him. Something like a test, and goddammit, Sanosuke hated tests. Saitou had made him take a basic literacy test before he became an informant; he studied his ass off, flunked it, and then found out it wasn't required. The only thing he could accurately recall from that time was that Saitou could be a real bastard at times.

But this test wasn't written, which meant Sanosuke might have a chance of passing it. He cocked his head to the side, staring back. Huh. Saitou looked less sharp than usual somehow, as if blurred a little into the background. Holding himself deceptively steady and relaxed. The hand closest to his sword was beneath the table, and it made Sanosuke nervous that he couldn't see it. The thumb and pointer of the hand he did see rubbed against each other once in a circle with a rough grating sound of cloth against cloth, not quite a nervous tic. 

He simply sat waiting for Sanosuke to fall for or point out the trick.

He tried, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly when he had lost control of the conversation. He opted for a truth instead: "I'm not actually planning to go on the program, I just wanted to pick your brain about it."

And then thankfully - oh, so thankfully - the tension whooshed out of the room. He witnessed Saitou manfully suppress an eyeroll, rip off his gloves, and toss the budget in favor for - _shit_ \- an informant's report. _His own report_ , he could recognize his chicken scrawl right side up, upside down or in any direction. It was just impossible to actually read what it said.

Saitou seemed to be trying, though. Squinting and failing. Sanosuke decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat before he was roped into deciphering or copying or whatever other busy work Saitou had on hand to torture him with. Not that any of it would be legible either.

"Uh, that was really it, so I'm gonna go back home now. Chores and all. Practice room ain't gonna wash itself."

Silence. Saitou seemed to have gone slightly cross-eyed over the kanji for "chicken" or "crane", or maybe it was just a block of black Sanosuke hadn't filled in properly. He couldn't remember, because he had still been drugged when he wrote it. Speaking of...

"Err, I never got to ask you. Did I do anything weird while I was...out of it?"

He was sure Saitou paused just long enough for Sanosuke to start squirming uncomfortably in his seat. "No."

Sanosuke let out a gusty sigh; man, that was a relief. While under he had been convinced his insides were on fire, Aoshi had moss-green hair and he was going to die, though that could have been because he was so bruised and for some reason he kept bumping those bruises. It was so, _so_ good to hear he had imagined the whole thing about begging Saitou for a deathbed kiss, and Saitou slipping him a gratuitous amount of tongue.

He blinked back to reality when Saitou pinned him place with a look of unimpressed disdain. "Don't you have chores to do." It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command, and now that the eerie suffocation had dissipated, Sanosuke's libido once again perked up. Just a few more words in that commanding tone, and he would -

"I distinctly recall assigning three sets of defensive katas last night. This was before you were knocked unconscious, so unless you have acquired selective amnesia - unlikely if you haven't by this point - you should probably devote your energies towards what you were told to do. Not that following directions seems to be very high on your list of priorities." 

For one of Saitou's lectures, it was a little tame, Sanosuke would rank it a two out of five for 'burn' quality. Not that it changed anything. 

_Boner boner go away, don't come back on any day. Please fucking please just go away NOW._

"Is there a reason why you're still sitting there like a stuffed rooster?" Was it just him, or was there a teeny-tiny bit of fondness in the way he said the last word? Nah, it was probably just his imagination, which resembled a squealing teenage girl by this point.

Okay, a horny squealing teenage girl. Wait, did those exist? "Cricketbrain," he croaked in response.

"Get out."

Sanosuke didn't need to be told twice - he _hurtled_ himself out the door, still chanting in his head between curses of blue balls and goddamn Saitou. Saitou's office door hadn't even completely clacked shut before he was haring halfway down the street.

Saitou blinked. If only the youth applied himself with that kind of fervor to his calligraphy. At this point, a dog could do better kicking dead leaves against a sheet of paper. Or a dying spider. At least Sanosuke hadn't claimed it was burnt, bombed, stabbed, thrown in a well or eaten by a wild animal this time.

He glanced at his ever-present, always-at-hand katana by his side. Yes, the conversation and this report made him want to dice things into pieces. But overpowering that was the overwhelming urge to hit himself over the head with it.

No, he decided. Self-flagellation was useless and a waste of time. He would just have to take it out on the ahou tonight, purely for the sake of helping him get better, of course.

Because the blinds were shut and the door was closed, Saitou allowed himself a wide smirk. And if it was tinged with relief, frustration and a little bit of fondness, well, no one else was there to see.


	11. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #5]  2014.07.08:  I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual Sanosuke has no idea what Saitou has in mind, but that's okay with Saitou. After all, he finally has an excuse to ~~invite the roosterhead on a date~~ reward his student/housekeeper/spy-in-training for a job well done. There's no way he's not going to take advantage of this, even if he has to couch it in commands the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it seem to you that Saitou seems to enjoy torturing himself with randy thoughts? And light, could-be-platonic touches? At least I agree with his motion to befuddle Sano, that's just plain funny (and adorable) to watch. ~~And thinking of Sano as Saitou's body servant gets me hot.~~

8\. I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking

_**Wear the good hakama set**_ , he told Sanosuke, and when the sun started to go down he imagined Sanosuke dressing, then taking it off, then putting it back on again, finding the kimono was askew, finding the obi was askew, and taking it back off. He thought Sanosuke might be nervous, startled as a rabbit about to bolt as he was the night Saitou commanded him to do this.

_**Meet me at the catty-corner across from the station.**_ That was strange in itself, even if the fact Saitou didn't tell him where they were going hadn't been strange enough. Sanosuke never met him anywhere near the precinct in anything but work clothes - a rule Saitou had laid down himself. Yet he was there in the twilight, trying not to look lost and failing as Saitou quitted the station and lit up. Sanosuke straightened infinitesimally at the smell of tobacco smoke.

_**Walk with me.**_ He breezed past and Sanosuke followed, glancing curiously at his mood but saying nothing. Saitou cherished the silence, not because he found Sanosuke irritating when he broke it, but because they could share this kind of unspeaking peace now. They scaled the bridge together in silence broken only by the swish of wind through the reeds and sakura leaves, and the clack of their geta together. Saitou thought Sanosuke was probably unconsciously mimicking his step-rhythm.

_**In you go.**_ Sanosuke stepped forward quickly to lift the noren curtain before him, careful not to let it slap against Saitou's cheek, and then smoothly rolled the door back. He had already recognized this was not on par with one of his grimy drinking holes, then.

He waited for Saitou to step out of his shoes before doing the same and stashing them, two pairs side by side, neatly under the genkan.

_**Order what you like.**_ Sanosuke cast him a suspicious look but mumbled something under the low murmur of conversation about being a common street kid and not knowing anything fancy-dancy even if it came up and bit him on the ass. Saitou's lips twitched at the mullish look on his face.

_**Talk if you want.**_ "Who're we looking for?" Sanosuke hissed. He looked more worried than Saitou did at the conspicuously empty slot by his side where his katana usually was. "Is there some kind of rule here that says even policemen can't carry weapons?"

The boy had the strangest ideas sometimes. "Public security is under the purview of the government, not at the whim of private establishments."

Sanosuke gave him a slightly slack-jawed look of incomprehension. Only in this time, in this space did Saitou let himself barely chuckle, and then again when the boy looked seriously freaked out.

_**Mind your manners.**_ "Stop squirming."

"Can't - not used to this stupid position, I can't feel my fucking feet."

" _Language_."

"You say that all the time like you're my mother or something -"

_Dear God, I hope not._

_**Drink.**_ "I think this is the first time I've seen you order anything so expensive. Wow. I can see why, damn, that's got a nice finish."

"It isn't meant to be guzzled like your regular swill. Slowly - if you even know what that word means."

He had barely set down his empty dish before Sanosuke reached over to refill it. And then he topped himself off. He did imbibe at a marginally slower rate after that, Saitou noted.

Those long, tanned fingers gripping the slender neck of the bottle for the rest of the night, never relinquishing it long enough for Saitou to do what he planned to do: to serve a dishful back.

_**But not too much.**_ Sanosuke was only teetering a little off-center when they left. His steps scuffled the dust as they reclimbed the bridge and paused at the line of shops reflected in the water. The boy closed his eyes and slumped against the stone railing, face turned into the wind to cool it. His jacket was a little off around the collar; as Saitou watched he clumsily rearranged it, but too late, the rest of him was rumpled too. 

Cheeks flushed, eyes shining, he turned to Saitou and smiled, still puzzled. "Did you find out what you needed?"

_No._ Saitou entertained the _Yes_ fantasy for a moment of reeling the boy in to teach all the ways of mouth-to-mouth osmosis, and reached out. But only to let Sanosuke rest his feverish forehead against Saitou's shoulder.

His breath was hot as he muttered into Saitou's best jacket. "You were with me the whole night."

His grip on Sanosuke's biceps spasmed. Gods, the boy grated at his control whenever he was in sight, it was no wonder he sliced through it completely in times like this.

"Not yet," he murmured back, too low for Sanosuke to have heard.

_**I said, mind your manners.**_ Sanosuke tripped over the hem of sleep kimono and went down like a sack of bricks. Thankfully he was only a step away from his futon, and even with the lingering buzz of alcohol, Saitou could just roll him onto it. He threw Sanosuke's pillow rather than place it under his head. Sanosuke didn't notice, just rubbed absently at the swath of white bandages that hid his new scar. The one he had gotten saving Saitou from his own inattention.

He leaned over for a better look. No red; the dressing was still holding. From this distance his nipples were hardly darker than the skin around it, shuddering with the light of the lantern. Everything was dark. Everything was secret.

The desire to follow the shadows of Sanosuke's body with his teeth proved so potent Saitou's mouth watered.

_**Sleep well, ahou.**_ He settled for laying one hand against Sanosuke's forehead instead. Just the regular heated glow of drinking. Tomorrow would bring an avoidance of loud noises and sunlight, awkward stumbling and a few more mistakes in practice.

Tomorrow they would be back to status quo.

But tonight he could pretend. He still had some hours to believe Sanosuke's brow smoothed only at Saitou's touch, the side of his face leaned into Saitou's palm, his lips whimpered Saitou's name in his sleep. He could sit quietly listening to the hush of Sanosuke's exhales and imagine he slept soundly because Saitou had worn him out physically. He could think of straddling the lax curl of Sanosuke's body, flipping their night clothes out of the way, and giving it to him until he was startled awake with orgasm and a gasp.

He could hope someday Sanosuke would only have to roll over to kiss him messily and say _Good morning, Cricketbrain, whatcha want for breakfast an' don't say something complicated_. As if what Saitou didn't love best was the way Sanosuke's simple straightforwardness was a foil for his own twisted personality.

_I think too much_ , was his last thought after preparing water and a convenient bucket. He waited at the head of the bed until he was sober and the moon was high, and dreamt that night of his hand on soft brown hair and blushing, overwarm cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, that SaiSa plot bunny bit me really, really good. I've missed writing these! Once I got into the swing of writing them again, I really enjoyed it!


	12. [KnB, AoKuro, KagaKuro, AoKagaKuro] 2014.07.13:  you can't unclench your teeth to howl the way you should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Aomine knows he deserves nothing good. Maybe a good kick to the face. But seeing his Tetsu happy is reward enough, even if Kagami rubs him wrong sometimes.
> 
> And then things get weird, because he starts to like them both. Maybe more than he likes them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried not to make Aomine jerk off or like Kagami but it was a moot exercise. Pure mootness, I don't know what I was thinking. Also, Aomine is so fucking depressive in this, what is wrong with me? I'm not saying he's always sunshine and rainbows but really, I'm kinda mad at myself. Goal: write a happy AoKagaKuro next time.

13\. you can't unclench your teeth to howl the way you should

He turns first because he can't bear it, can't bear how Tetsu looks. Because Tetsu looks the same as he did back then when everything was golden good and happy rainbows, when Aomine's fingers trembled, his heartbeat raced, every single nerve in his body tightened and sang at the sound of a ball against the pavement. He would have played - he _had_ played - on cracked asphalt or even grass. He would have dribbled to the end of the world if it had a hoop to shoot at and only Tetsu would understand what he meant, what he felt like, watching with that vague upward tic of his lips.

_You better win, Tetsu._

_Yes._

He doesn't look back to see the hidden promise there. It isn't his to take hold of, not when Tetsu has someone unfailingly better, someone who _feels_ like Aomine except he's still budding, blooming, stretching his limbs. Inching into his growing pains. And has a guileless, unfeigned kind of innocence when he looks at Aomine and says _Let's do this again sometime_.

In that second he knows he doesn't deserve shit, but he can't unclench his teeth to howl like he should. He's lost. He's always been lost and now he knows it for sure. Lost is in his bones, his hands, his fucking game. It's pounding like rain in his head.

It's his own damn fault he lost Tetsu. He let go first.

And now he's losing him again. He's a wreck when he sees how those eyes flick down to the ball and Tetsu lays the name gently between them. _Kagami-kun._ Syllables layered with kindness that is unfamiliar until he remembers the redhead's stupid face on the court. He had cared though Aomine was a stranger. He put his trust, his faith, his time, his effort into someone else's dream and it was no mystery Tetsu responded, because Tetsu always saw these things so clearly.

Tetsu is smiling. Tetsu looks _happy_.

And it's weird because a part of him is too. The part of him that isn't screaming at the distance Aomine can't cross, at the gulf that yawns between them. It's not just relief someone's doing his job. It's a strange, roundabout possessiveness that curls tight around the figure of Kagami he makes up in his head. This idea of another who makes him feel like the synapses are snapping, the nerves are exploding and the blood is gushing to his brain, his hands, his legs. Between them.

He wonders if a moron like Kagami, who's too much like him in some ways, is thinking the same thing as he lays back and strokes his cock. Thinking of something or someone as his breathing goes stuttered and deep, hand quickening, toes curling. He wonders if Kagami remembers what Aomine smells like because Aomine remembers what _Kagami_ smells like. That's what he comes to that night, the spice-tang and sweat and ash dribbled over something sweet.

He comes again when he thinks of what they would look like together, if Tetsu is as pushy as he remembers he was in bed. If Kagami let Tetsu arrange him on the sheets. If Kagami let Tetsu whisper monotone in his ear. If Kagami arched back at Tetsu's touch.

If Kagami begged for more.

Aomine wants to beg. Aomine wants just scraps. Even though he knows there isn't any; Tetsu's not that far into Kagami's personal bubble yet. Their knees knock when they sit next to each other on the bench, that's about it. And watching the Yousen match stirs the dead leaves in him into a roaring inferno, because Kagami is idiotic and desperate and Aomine was wrong, he has a light that's not fair at all because it flickers against cupped palms, warm and inviting. Emitting a steady pulse of hope.

_Just take them_ , he snarls and leaves the dumbass standing there with the box of shoes in his hands, yelling something back, flush-faced but Aomine knows what anger feels like and this isn't it. He knows how this looks to everyone else, like he's got a weakness all of a sudden. And maybe he does.

He doesn't care. This time he looks back and sees Kagami opening the box, lifting the shoes out. Cradling them gently, reverently, curious with that guileless, unfeigned innocence that burns Aomine to the bottom of the wick in three seconds flat. He puts those big feet in the exact same places that Aomine has and moves, speeds, hums with breathless joy across the court. Thank the gods it's winter, practically snowing and his balls are too cold to think of anything but shriveling further up between his legs. And for this giant down coat that covers everything.

_You can pay me back by winning_ , he doesn't say. Tetsu already knows. 

He ends some nights with a good wank, some nights without. What he always does and what he never tells anyone, is that before he goes to sleep, he counts down the days before he can see them together again. 

For that moment, for a different reason, his heart beats rabbit-fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smexy OT3 next?


	13. [RuroKen, SaiSa, Verse A #6] 2014.07.17:  promises of someday make his dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drugged-don't-remember-anything scene from Verse A #5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GODDAMMIT this pairing is addictive. I probably didn't do justice to how a drug could possibly fuck up your senses, but I tried.

17\. promises of someday make his dreams

It is a poison, pure and simple.

It starts with the heart, makes it stutter and stop. It freezes the lungs to make breathing exquisitely painful. Then it reaches a great big hand into his chest to squeeze everything together so it hurts, it hurts so red, it hurts so bad. It hurts until the rush of pain turns to sticky heat and disease and the unquenchable urge to rut wipes vision to black.

He can't see. It isn't his fault. It is only the drug blinds him, makes him flail and struggle sweetly in Saitou's arms. He claims there are fiery red ants crawling under his skin. He shouts someone has lit a candle in his stomach. He whimpers there is no hope because he's gonna die, his brain's gonna explode, _I can't feel my hands did someone cut them off_. Venomous centipedes are marching over his body. He is bound on a roasting spit, spinning, spinning around. Someone is boiling him alive in a vat of oil.

He isn't angry. He understands what is happening. He knows it is helpless to resist.

He keeps banging his arm against things. _Gotta stay awake_ , he slurs, _can't let'im down. He's comin' to kick your ass. 'm sure of it. He's a-comin' right now._

"Ahou, stop moving. Go to sleep already."

_Can't sleep 'm waiting for him._

"Stop. Thrashing."

He can't breathe. For a moment he thinks he can see but they're only the white spots he gets when he's being strangled slowly. For a moment he thinks he's free until the drug clamps down again, suffocating and he just can't get a break long enough to suck enough air. Even then it tastes like sweat and pain and his own human mess. He might have read about what to expect, but he didn't expect this. He didn't think he'd have so little control.

"Ahou. Ahou, can you hear me?"

He can't feel. His hands are cut off at the wrist. Every fabric grates, even the sheets after Saitou takes off his clothes. Perspiration trails like a living, glowing hand down his spine and he can't get away from it, no matter how he screams. It goddamn _hurts_. It's turning his body inside out like squeezed, gutted, finished laundry.

He's losing everything, his name, his eyes, his face, his pride, his history, his soul. He would ransom anything for it back but it's gone. Once he realizes it's hopeless he starts to cry because he has nothing left to give. This is all his fault anyway. This was all because he wanted to do something good. To _be_ good, be better than everyone thought. To exceed expectations. What was so wrong with that?

_Everything_ , the poison chants. _You should know there's a problem with you. He said so._

"No, Sanosuke. I never said that. Listen to me. Listen to my voice - can you hear this? Sanosuke!"

He smells sweet, rotting garbage and he turns his face away into the peppery scent of tobacco that stings him right on the nose with how familiar it is. _Saitou._ He's come. He's here.

_Please, I don't, I can't feel. Saitou, get this thing off my chest, can't breathe. Please, Saitou - I'm - I'm scared._

_I'm gonna die, aren't I?_

There is a buzzing, ringing silence in his head. Pregnant with curse words and derisive laughter. He thinks of crazy things like Kenshin's eyes when they're mad, a million angry bees, running to the ocean and throwing himself off of a cliff. Stones in mirrors. Foreigners eating snails. The flame that curdles in his gut when Saitou asks him to wash his naked back. 

"Sit up, you need water. I said don't thrash. And don't spill! Now. Drink."

_Don't leave, don't let me by myself don't wanna die alone. Can't feel Saitou please, please prove to me you're here._

Something sloshes down his throat and he starts before a smokey-thick, murky, sun-hot sensation takes over his mouth. Oh yes, this is what he has always wanted, this is what he's been waiting for. He might moan or keen or both, legs spread, inviting touch, _please oh please_ \- hands clench his hips, too far but Sanosuke bucks anyway -

It goes on and on, the play of lips and teeth. The kiss blots out the discomfort of the rest of his body. It's the only thing he can feel for days, because that's how long it seems to last. Months, years. Eternity. The only point of concentration in the dark where he's reduced to a child again. But this isn't solely a child's desire. This is a dream half in the grave. This is a fruitless little wish that has followed him forever. 

_I found it. I found you, Saitou._

The dream subsides into incomprehensibility, though at least Sanosuke isn't scared anymore. His chest feels better now. He realizes he stinks and his throat is dry as a lakebed in a drought, and he feels just as cracked inside. _Am I gonna die?_ he wonders again but this time with a sense of peace. He's done something amazing, unbelievable. He's discovered tobacco in the farthest reaches with his tongue. It's delicious.

"Will you sleep now, ahou?"

Sight returns a blurry image of Saitou's hands closed firmly around his wrists to prevent him from moving, before going black again.

As Sanosuke slumps bonelessly onto him, Saitou reflects he's actually the one that's sick.


	14. [KnB, KagaKuro, HimuKaga/KagaHimu] 2014.07.09:  there is thunder in our hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the S2 ending pics. Kuroko knows what he sees and he's not quite ready to give up just yet. Even if Himuro is a mixed, potent slice of Kagami's past, he's not sure he deserves Kagami. But what irks him the most is how Kagami lets himself go so much more with Himuro.
> 
> (tl;dr Kuroko thinks on the three of them, Kagami, Himuro and himself.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augh, this turned out to be depressive too. And the end is somewhat truncated. Himuro had better watch out, the Phantom Sixth Man has entered the game. 
> 
> (Also, my similes SUCK.)

9\. There is thunder in our hearts

The stone lands heavily in his stomach, crushing his ribs, crushing his knees. He can't stand because he's too weak, he has no defense against what his eyes see: that Kagami has stopped dead at the sight of another. Kagami, who's always tapping away, not quite a nervous tic but something about him is always in motion, something about him is always free-flowing and gliding higher.

He's standing stock still now and on his face wars desperate hope and yearning. He wants so bad Kuroko can almost see him reaching out for this dark-haired stranger, not with his hands but with his mind, every thought bending towards him, wrapping, clinging tight.

He's always known there was another owner of the ring.

What he didn't know was that he would stop too, mentally compare himself next to Himuro Tatsuya, and come up short. He is dark-beautiful and dark-perfect like a warped moon-side. The other face of Kise's coin. And his basketball skills are beautiful too.

_And plus, between you and him, I know what's really important now!_

_You are a liar, Kagami-kun_ , he doesn't say, but his heart screams it as it's squeezed and pummeled and stuffed into a juicer, then set on high. Kuroko-juice, invisible to the masses, available now in the neighborhood supermarket frozen aisle. Oh wait, nobody can see it except for the ones that are already looking. Aomine, who barely brushes his shoulder as he saunters past. Kiyoshi, who rests one huge paw in his hair for a moment. Murasakibara doesn't say or do anything, just stands unmoving over him until he gets tired of being showered by crumbs.

He is there to watch Kagami and Himuro's heads bend together over the paint on the wall. Most of Himuro's smiles are charming and fake, but when Kagami says something his lips twitch up like he doesn't mean to. He just can't control himself. Reluctantly charmed in return. They bump shoulders, arms, hips, knees without a care, without even noticing, whereas Kagami's very careful with Kuroko and everyone on the Seirin team. 

At the end of the day he hugs Himuro tight, so close their rings clink together, and Himuro buries himself in that embrace just as securely. It isn't something he's ever seen Kagami share with anyone. It is something private and he has to fight the urge to look away, except he can't, he puts himself in Himuro's shoes and can't think of any response other than to melt and cling back.

There is thunder in his heart when he looks at Kagami. In _our_ hearts, his and Himuro's, who is too clever to let go when Kagami holds his hand. Kagami, who never asks for anything from Kuroko or anyone, preferring to go the sleepless night before games alone - what was he waiting for? A written invitation? Didn't he know Kuroko would spend every breath with him if he could? - touches the back of Himuro's neck, the curve of his back, the sway of his hips as if he can't get enough. Can't believe he's there. And Himuro lets him. Himuro's eyes drink him in like he's been left thirsty for a million years.

Couched in a begging-snacks I'm-bored message from Murasakibara, he hears Himuro's moved out of their hotel room and is staying with Kagami and Alexandra Garcia. What did Kagami say to him? Did he beg? 

What do they do when Alexandra is not there? Or do they go with her? Do they fuck?

Does he love Himuro?

 _Liar_ , he scolds Kagami, scolds himself. _But I'm worse. I lied to myself. I can't wait quietly after all._

He'll start small. Just by asking what Kagami wants to eat today. The other Miracles know how this works: he'll keep pushing steadily and he won't stop until he has his way. 

Until he can whisper in Kagami's ear, _Take off the ring._ If Kagami protests, he'll repeat _Just trust me_ until it falls under the bed and Kuroko can throw the damned thing into the school incinerator.

 _I can't stand aside for a man who's thrown you away once_ , Kuroko communicates with his eyes, but as always Kagami is blinded. For now. For now, all he sees is the adorable dot next to Himuro's eye, the point of his chin, the practiced fall of his dark hair. Kuroko thinks he can understand why.

He is still invisible. But he will keep trying until Kagami reaches out for him instead, and sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, they should all just get together.


	15. [KnB, AoKaga] 2014.07.18:  it's a dump of a destiny, but it's got a view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine at different stages in life. Aomine wondering what he's gonna become. Aomine with dreams he did or didn't throw away. Aomine realizing going it alone could work, sure, but things are so much easier with two people.
> 
> (Aomine until the age of twenty-five.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The happy AoKaga I wanted to write. But mostly I just feel sad now, because I just read [Use Me by Tsuukai](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1974855) and it is full of angsty child-rearing unrequited-love feels. I am sad because this seems very possible. I am sad because my own fic feels pretty shallow in comparison. But mostly, I'm sad because it's 'Monday' at work this week (7/21 is Ocean Day in Japan). DAMMIT ALL.

18\. It's a dump of a destiny, but it's got a view

When he was little and thought of year twenty-five, it was so far in the distance that he couldn't see it. It seemed laughable that it would ever come, though of course rationally it would. Not growing up would mean no babies in the world, which would mean no him, though grown-ups are weird and kept telling him _Wow, you get bigger every time I see you_ like it was something that he did on purpose.

He didn't really _get_ how growing up was something to be proud of until he had to try very hard to sink a ball into a basket. He had to try a hundred times. A million times. Okay, so he lost count and by try number fifty-eight Satsuki was yelling the sun was down, she couldn't see anything and their parents would be worried. But he couldn't hear her. His ears were only straining for the _swoosh_ of the basket.

When he finally made basket number ten that day he looked at how small he was next to the hoop and thought for the first time, _I can't wait until I'm taller and bigger and faster_. He thought, _Basketball's gonna be even more fun when I'm older_. He thought, _I wanna be the best. Because then I'll get to play basketball all day._

When junior high school rolled around he didn't sign up for the club, but Satsuki did it for him. The fact he was third string didn't matter; he'd prove himself soon enough. He didn't care about anything but jumping higher, running faster, making better dunks, performing cooler moves. There were some others in the club like him who loved basketball hard enough to bleed for it. When he played against those people he felt this was probably what being high felt like. His stomach would feel like it was weightless and his head swelled like a balloon. There were some times he was reflected in Tetsu's eyes when he felt like he could die.

He thought again of twenty-five and was surprised to find he was halfway there. When had that happened? Now he was taller and bigger and faster. Now he could do what he was born to do.

But by the time he was sixteen he spent most of his time on the rooftop and avoiding Satsuki. Avoiding his new captain with the fox eyes. Avoiding the stupid boring teachers and stupid hum-drum school life. Maybe if he grew a little older - no, that dream was like a glass castle in the air. He was gonna be stuck in this stupid ditch forever, watching the clouds, watching the sunset, feeling not a single whit of the lust that had pounded through his veins before. He marveled how it felt like it had never been. Rinse and repeat.

He rolled over on the concrete at a little-more-than-halfway to twenty-five, slept, ate, pissed, walked past the gymnasium without a second glance, went home, and jacked off to Horikita Mai's boobs. He avoided the frozen section in convenience stores. Satsuki had to come over, locate, and wash his uniform the night before games. He yawned whenever his sadistic captain dragged him onto the court. 

Then came seventeen.

He woke early, shot some hoops. He was almost ready when Satsuki came by at nine AM, just had to grab an extra pair of basketball shoes. "What's that for?" she asked, but his mind was already on the court, at who he might find there. Probably not Kise, he was too far and always busy on weekends. Midorima was a fucking snorefest. There was no reason for Murasakibara to be home this particular weekend. And hell would freeze over before Akashi stopped by a lowly streetball tournament.

But then sweat broke out on his arms, prickling at the back of his neck as the one name he had fought to keep back floated to the front of his name. _Kagami_. He gripped the shoes tighter; they were the bet for today. Vice versa, he saved a picture of a cake in the shape of boobs in case Kagami lost - which, let's face it, was going to happen. Aomine would make it happen, he would smack that stupid grinning Bakagami face right off and replace it with that challenging, grudgingly respectful gritted-jaw for the most talented scorer in Teikou history -

He got there and Tetsu, Tetsu was there with that gleam in his eye, so familiar that Aomine made a note to drop by the convenience store though it wasn't the right season for peach ice cream, but maybe there was something else he would like. And Satsuki too, such a nag, but also such a laugh as she sucked the last bit off of the stick and was disappointed every time it read 'Too Bad'. 

He thought of Kagami shirtless, complaining of the humid heat with his shirt off. Like Aomine he had a presence that couldn't be denied, an aura that clashed with Aomine's own when they were together, like the serrated, mismatched edges of saws. He was just like Tetsu in the way he couldn't agree with anything Aomine-ish yet synced perfectly with him when it came to basketball. Just the two of them flying over the court, every muscle in him waiting for the blood-pump on razor's edge - Kagami's teeth a slice of white snarl - ready to bleed for victory -

\- Kagami would look good standing on the sidewalk, red tongue chasing the trail of melting ice cream over his hand. No - _delicious_.

Aomine's mouth was a rictus grin as he sank the shot to the background soundtrack of Kagami's cursing. 

"One more! Just one more! I swear I'm gonna beat your stupid face into the ground this time -"

"Week's worth of Maji L sets or a boob cake. Your choice."

"Shits-damned fucking hell! Crappity fuck!"

And he couldn't help it, he laughed. Everyone looked surprised, including himself, because it didn't have a single trace of mockery in it. It was just Aomine with his head tilted back, finding Kagami's frustration freaking hilarious, and showing it.

Last year he didn't think he would be here. Last year he would have tossed the flyer for the streetball tournament into the trash. Last year he wouldn't have put a picture of a cake on his phone, much less actively looked for one. Last year he wouldn't have taken the shoes out of the box the night before, looking for nips and dings, and carefully brushing off what little dirt and scuffs there were before replacing them.

He looked over at where Midorima's dark-haired teammate, Tetsu, and Kagami were discussing the cake. 

"Wow. People really _are_ crazy," Takao shook his head.

"Hey, if you're making the cake, make it peach flavored. Then Tetsu can come over and have some," Aomine interjected.

"I only like peach flavor if it's in ice cream. Also, please do not automatically assume I want to partake in...this."

Kagami tossed the phone back disinterestedly. "No matter, I choose Maji L sets." His basketball shorts were loose enough to show if he had popped a boner at the sight of boobs, even cake boobs, but he seemed genuinely unaffected.

It was strange how that made a hitherto unknown knot in Aomine's chest loosen. Trying to ignore the sensation, he offered casually, "Just one more round, then?"

This time it was his stomach, which did a silly flip-flop when Kagami stood up eagerly. "Yeah! One more round!"

"But if you lose, you have to make the cake."

Kagami's eyes gleamed. By now the courts were pretty empty except for the Miracles and their partners, not that Kagami didn't stick out like a sore thumb wherever he was. Now he was even more arresting - he stood tall, filling out the space around him. It wasn't just his face, it was his whole body that challenged Aomine right now, he could read it in the confident swagger of his shoulders, the sure way he took his place at the center line. Only his hands, clenching briefly, trembling with excitement, gave away how he really felt.

Bemused, Tetsu held the ball for tip-off between them. 

"You think a stupid little bet like that's gonna stop me?" He was being challenged by this scruffy redhead, and he loved it.

_No, it won't_ , and that one phrase was wrapped around something soft and tender and gentle that he had never felt for anyone but Tetsu and Satsuki. Something he balked at feeling for a big-headed, moronic, stubborn Bakagami that wasn't small, wasn't cute, and had crash-landed into Aomine's life like the world's stupidest, clumsiest meteorite. 

If only the way he whooped and fist-bumped Tetsu when he sank the last basket didn't make Aomine's stomach flip the other direction into a black pool of water and sink like a stone. What was so wrong with winning thirty-something challenges in a row? What was so bad about looking for dumb things, doing dumb things, waiting to see Kagami's face get flushed and angry as he demanded another round?

What was so wrong about realizing he would have handed over another pair of shoes not if Tetsu needed him to, but because he _wanted_ to give them to Kagami?

Twenty-five seemed so far away, when Kagami was still out of sync with Aomine outside of the court. Because if he was twenty-five, he could do adult things like drink himself into beer-induced oblivion, or go find a real pair of boobs to squeeze. Or distract himself with NBA reruns, because by twenty-five he was gonna be in the NBA, own his own house in America, and order hookers and pizza daily.

Still, he didn't think any orgasm in the world could compete warm flood of pleasure at the way Kagami came up to him afterwards - shy, pleased, embarrassed, and not totally unwilling. He smiled, and said, "Hey, thanks, Aomine."

Kagami's new shoes lasted only for a season, until seventeen-point-five. Tetsu called him onto the blacktop that night, crumbling and cracked in places, and shot basket after basket until Aomine was sure he would be seeing some form of it in his dreams.

In typical Tetsu-way, he didn't bother with the preface, just skipped to the heat of the matter. "Kagami-kun and I aren't dating anymore."

That jolted him. "Did that guy do something -"

Tetsu's faint smile stopped him mid-sentence. "Aomine-kun. Think about what you just said. Did you almost just accuse Kagami-kun of being abusive? He can't even touch Nigou without flinching, and he actually doesn't like dogs."

Aomine had to admit he had a point. "So why."

Tetsu readied himself for another shot. "We're better as friends. I'll spare you the details, but suffice to say Kagami-kun isn't the most graceful in the bedroom, and the timing is never right."

Aomine parsed that through his Tetsu-to-Japanese translator. "You're being cockblocked by life."

"That is one way of putting it." Tetsu's shots kept going in. It was really a good thing that they had just finished another Interhigh, so it was possible for them to call temporary truce.

"And this has to do with me how."

Tetsu turned. Tetsu had always seen right through him. It was weird, it was like whenever both of them were standing on the same court he suddenly developed mind-reading powers and could vocalize everything Aomine was thinking. Which he did now. "Aomine-kun, please don't lie to me or deny yourself any longer. I will make sure everything goes smoothly on the Seirin side, so please don't take too long to confess."

Oh, _oh_ his palms sweated just hearing the word. He spluttered, "Why the hell do I have to do it? And I'm not gonna - that's just plain embarrassing, hell, fuck no. If he wants to - to _whatever_ , he can ask me himself!"

He got the sinking feeling that Tetsu was having a hard time trying to keep from bursting into laughter. "The alternative is to keep pining. Or giving him gifts, though he's still somewhat in the dark as to why you keep spending your pocket money on him. On popsicles and hot dogs. Or more dates."

"What the hell are you talking about? I think I'd know if we already went on a date!"

"You play basketball together every Saturday if you don't have other obligations and you even voluntarily text him to make sure he'll be there. You've done this for more than six months."

"I have?" He was a little blindsided by that. "And it's not always just the two of us. Most of the time Midorima and that partner of his is also there. Or you. Or Satsuki."

"Double-dates count," Tetsu said mildly. The statement took another moment to trickle down into comprehensibility, but then Aomine recoiled.

"You - Satsuki -"

Tetsu passed the ball to him and for once in his life, Aomine almost didn't catch it. Even when he barely got his hands up in time, he just held it there, rooted in place. "I promise to take care of Momoi-san if you take care of Kagami-kun. I think it's a fair trade, especially when I have to deal with the fallout if anything happens to affect his play style during games. On the other hand, please treat your childhood friend better, and return her notes to her in the condition they were received. Just because she is second place in the academic standings at Touou does not mean she doesn't need to study."

"I..." He couldn't think of the words to say, the words _I thought Satsuki was just a one-woman fanclub_ and _You said YES?!_ kept interrupting his train of thought. "You..."

Tetsu hefted his bag. "You can do it however you like, by text or e-mail or phone or in person. I have already prepared for every situation, since Kagami-kun will still inevitably come to me for help."

By the time Aomine had pulled his scattered thoughts together to ask "What the heck does that mean, you're gonna help him?", Tetsu had already done his invisible disappearing act and left.

Aomine couldn't stop thinking about it that night. Him and Kagami. Kagami and him. Him having a chance to pull that red hair, scrunch it in his fingers, he had a dream where it was crunchy as grass once but it had to be wiry and smelled of shampoo. He could suck a hickey and Kagami would feel it every time it shifted under his clothes. They could do everything he had seen in porn mags except with dicks and would it be better with Kagami's fingers fisting his cock? He bet it would.

Twenty-five was almost a decade away but it seemed closer when he thought of Kagami. Like it was pulled closer in some steady game of tug-of-war. He didn't mind. With Kagami time always passed quickly. Just now the repertoire could expand to other activities that took time and maybe planning to carry out.

He got the feeling he would enjoy it, though.

Then came eighteen, and inevitable partings. Yes, high school had seemed to take absolutely forever as time went on - dragging through the dust at first, but then after the first Winter Cup it took flight like a slow cruiser, gliding upwards until instead, the net was dragging stars. Still the sight of early sakura and the black case of his diploma weighed heavily on his mind the whole day, until by unspoken agreement they gathered again at the Saturday streetball court still clad in their uniforms, then onward to the nearest family restaurant.

For once Kagami's was buttoned up to the collar. He tapped the red-black-stripe of Aomine's tie teasingly with one finger. "Think it's the first time I've actually seen you wear this."

Aomine caught that hand. "Clearly that means I should come over more often."

Kagami laughed. "It's not like we won't be seeing each other regularly from here on out."

The parting that Aomine had feared the most would never come to pass. He had decided on a college that had an exchange program at Kagami's university in America, so that was where he would go next month. Then, once September came, they would fly out together, along with Tetsu, who wasn't quite ready to leave the basketball scene, his partner, or the chance to see a foreign country while having a semi-native for a security net.

Tetsu said he would come back after six months, maybe a year. Aomine had already privately decided he would stay for all four years.

That was only if the basketball was as good as Kagami claimed. Aomine didn't see any reason to think differently. Now all that was left was to join -

\- _join them_ , he thought with a sense of awe. He was here. He really was, after all those long years, daydreaming of castles in the sky. And all because Tetsu had been right - someone _had_ appeared to challenge him, to even win against him. Someone who he could never get tired of. Someone who kicked his boring, unchanging days out the window, made him look forward to the next day, the next weekend, _hurry up so I can see him_ , _hurry up so I can touch him again_. And they had touched. They had kissed gently at first, then graduated to full-blown make-out session while announcers roared unintelligible things about scores and dunks and amazing players that Aomine might or might not like on the TV, but he didn't care right now because his boyfriend was half-naked underneath him.

He was right. The years had flown, and now he looked back at them nostalgically. Now, he let his heart smush like unset dough when Kagami turned to grin at him, affectionate and knowing before he carefully slid their hands together under the table.

("Dai-chan's being a lovey-dovey dork again," Momoi giggled across the table.

"Kagami-kun is not helping," Kuroko agreed, and the little uptick of his mouth was a full-blown laugh on any other person.)

He did stay over that night. They already had dinner, so it was just the ritual of shower and turning on a recorded game to be done. Once they were on the couch Aomine didn't waste any time, he stuck his head under Kagami's sleep shirt and just stayed there for a moment, breathing in his scent, before he licked up Kagami's ribs. He probably looked ridiculous - that or he had hit Kagami's ticklish spot without being able to see, which actually wasn't that hard since everything to the side of his ribs was. For good measure Aomine gleefully rubbed the point of his nose across them.

It was definitely the ticklish thing this time as Kagami wheezed for breath. "Aomine, stoppit. Stop! Shit, I said stop, stupid Ahomine doof -" Abruptly the shirt was lifted away as Kagami tossed it somewhere behind him. His cheeks were pink and his teeth were showing in a silly, silly grin. When he caught Aomine looking, he spread his legs invitingly.

Usually Aomine would pounce like a starved animal by that point, and they would have wild monkey sex until they were interrupted by a shout on the TV, a text from Tetsu, or yowling cat outside, or any number of things in the world that were out to cockblock Aomine. Not that he had patience with any of them - Kagami would be startled out of a fucking-mood by the TV or a text, or would feel obligated to check on the cat, but Aomine wasn't. He would shut off the TV, turn off his phone, throw something at the balcony. In every case, Kagami's face would crinkle into a laugh that Aomine would admire for just a moment, because he loved Kagami being intense and intent but there was something mesmerizingly honest about the way he laughed in other times. And then he would kiss off that amusement until it melted into desire.

Tonight, though, he first touched leisurely. Kagami's eyes rolled back when he lightly scraped nails over his nipples, rotated them gently until they were hard nubs. It took a while, but Aomine was focused and patient. He waited until Kagami's inhale stuttered in his chest before taking one into his mouth, then the other.

"Y - you're different tonight," Kagami noted, exhale whooshing out of him as Aomine nudged his leg between Kagami's. The redhead humped accordingly, eyes fluttering shut at the friction, and Aomine ground back. They frotted for a while, fingers tangled together until the jab of Kagami's cock through his sweatpants tented too insistently to be ignored any longer.

When he released it, it smacked Kagami's stomach, dribbling a little until Kagami steadied it with one hand. He sighed as he stroked himself. His eyes were hot as they watched Aomine take off his own clothes.

"We're not in a hurry," Aomine said as a not-quite-answer before he bent his head to suck. They had never done this, especially not in this order. Kagami had been persuaded to try once or twice, but both of them had agreed it had taken Aomine entirely too long to get off. Not at all like the porn Aomine watched, that Kagami rolled his eyes at and changed the channel at. But Kagami had gotten off the second time by just pressing his erection against the sheets, pretty much just fucking the bed, and Aomine wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

It turned out to be pretty addicting, though that could be because it was Kagami, and Aomine couldn't resist anything when it came to him, whether it was a challenge on the court or some petty argument about what to eat. He still goaded Kagami sometimes, drove him fucking crazy up the wall - but Kagami drove him crazy too sometimes, with his smiles, his laughter, the burn in his eyes that now welcomed Aomine instead of shutting him out. That had taken time. That had taken effort, until he was sure Aomine wasn't going to leave. And Aomine was still proving himself every time Kagami opened his eyes to see he hadn't left.

He had been well-warned by Tetsu for good reason, but Aomine was determined. Maybe more determined than he was on the court, and he had to admit to himself that was _pretty damn determined_.

Kagami's cock was slick, slick skin that started to weep when Aomine's tongue touched it, and sprang to attention when he closed his mouth over it. Jacking off to it wasn't so bad, not when he had so much to look at: Kagami's head hitting the end of the couch, hips trying so hard not to thrust, white hands fisted at his sides. Aomine relocated one to his head, let Kagami set the rhythm he wanted, which was slow and deep until Kagami was driving _himself_ mad, chanting Aomine's name, telling him he'd never felt so good in his life, Aomine was the best, the absolute fucking best, _oh God I love you love you love you_ -

He wasn't even embarrassed anymore when he came at that. He could blow it off like he used to, by saying he was vicariously riding Kagami's high, and sure, feeling his balls draw up, his whole body tense for the finish, the core of him rise to Aomine's mouth - he probably could come just from watching Kagami fighting the pleasure so long only to give in messily at the end. 

But he didn't. He swallowed, rode out Kagami's orgasm, and then cleaned himself off. In a few months this couch, this whole apartment would be packed and shipped back to America, and all they would have of Kagami's first sexual forays would be in his head - but why would that matter, when he had the man himself to practice further on? 

"You're weird tonight," Kagami commented.

"I'm thinking, hush."

"Don't break your brain over it." Funny to think at sixteen, he would have denied, denied, denied to the end he would enjoy a kiss from another guy, much less endure verbal abuse after he sucked someone off. But now his version of revenge was to dig his tongue deep in Kagami's mouth so he could taste himself, and resist Kagami when he clawed at Aomine's shoulders to fight him for the pace of the kiss. It turned hard and dirty real fast. And yet still too little, because ten minutes later Kagami was on all fours, barely stretched, yet groaning as Aomine pushed in with too little finesse.

"Go," the redhead choked out. Aomine obliged and the commands turned to unintelligible babble except for Aomine's name, truncated here and there in strange places, with equally strangled sounds interspersed. The language of his body, though, was shouting loud enough: _more, yes, please, Aomine, fuck me, harder, push dammit, I said fuck me_ -

_We're almost there_ , the thought trailed drifting ripples through the sated surface of his mind when they lay scooped together on the bed, freshly fucked out (again) and washed (again). _Just a little more, and we'll be the best._

_We?_ the scornful part of his mind scoffed. _As if you need anyone._

That part shut up when Kagami hummed something, hand spasming around where it was securely spreading and holding Aomine's palm across his stomach. _Eighteen years was too long to learn what I really wanted_ , he thought. _Sure, my dream's gotten more complicated, more risky - but look at who I get to spend it with. Look at how fucking beautiful he is._

All the doubts in his mind fell away when faced with that.

At twenty-one he praised lord, God, whatever Americans believe in (and wasn't that a shock, hearing not all Americans were some form of Christian) that he was now legal in both countries. He could drink legally! Not that he hadn't been before. His American sempais always slipped him something alcoholic when he and Kagami did well on the court. Though that was strange too, that they didn't see themselves as that much better, or that much more worthy of being listened to - America was _weird_ , but good, because like Aomine they prized what a man could do well, and didn't look too hard at what he didn't as long as they didn't have to.

They didn't care either, that him and Kagami were together. Some of their teammates had given them a second look when they found out, but shrugged when they didn't do anything more than share water bottles or switch towels. At one point they had almost arrived late to a game in each other's uniform shirts, and gotten a bit of ribbing then about wanting to sleep in late, but no harm, no foul. They hadn't even slept in their own dorm beds that night - Alex had wanted to drill some last-minute tactics into their head, and the two of them had passed out at her place. It said something when a guy always had a spare uniform shirt at their teacher's house.

_Alex._ She had given him the mother of all shovel talks in a mix of three languages that nevertheless drove home even the parts Aomine didn't understand. He had quailed at her for a whole month, thinking she was actually going to hire a hitman to cut off his dick, pickle it, and send it to his mother, before Kagami's big brother showed up and told him _There's a helluva lot of ways for a human to die, but there's only one way for you to live_ with the most genteel-winning-creepy smile on his face. Aomine got it, he really did - Kagami was purer than white snow in his not-family's eyes, and they would straight out murder him if he didn't treat Kagami right.

Kagami had laughed when he heard and told him he'd defend his poor lover if it came down to it, but really all he had to do was get a little louder than usual. He only had to moan a few more _Oh yeah_ s and _Right there_ s and _More, more_ s before they got the point.

"It actually worked?"

"It actually worked."

He couldn't help it, he gave into the overpowering urge to kiss that smirk off of Kagami's face. He let himself fall back when Kagami nudged him, let hands jerk his pants and underwear off. Let Kagami cradle his head gently and kiss him like the world was ending. Let Kagami fall on him like a ravenous beast, sucking, tucking his tongue in the niches and crevices of Aomine's body, scraping his fingers over every inch of skin. Fucking him with the rhythm so familiar, that Aomine arched in enjoyment to feel pulsing like stereo bass through every tendon, every organ, reaching out a hand for Kagami to take -

\- he always came at the hiss of his own name, desperate and low. At the peak Kagami was quieter than Aomine had always expected, and years ago he had been put off and confused. Now he looked for other clues: the minute tremble as Kagami clutched at him, the ragged puff of breath against his neck. Kagami had broken skin again, but thankfully the bite mark was in a spot that would be hidden by the uniform. Otherwise the team would snicker at them again.

"Good?"

"Yeah." He couldn't even tell who had spoken and who had answered. Or if the words had been said at all. He only drifted away, content on a warm sea of stars.

_Twenty-five, I'll have my own house. Twenty-five, I'll have all the money I need. Twenty-five, I'll play basketball all day._ It was a shit-dump of a destiny, but at least it had a view: Kagami, unpacking the first of their boxes, muttering at why they didn't toss out some stuff before they moved. Their new apartment was bare as a baby's bottom, but Aomine didn't care. He pressed insistently against Kagami's backside until it was bent over the box and he could suck a hickey right under the collar of Kagami's shirt. 

"Horny perverted bastard."

"You know you like it."

"Yeah, that's why I have this." Kagami wiggled his left hand so the plain gold band winked in the dingy fluorescent lights. "Worst mistake ever. Now I'm stuck coddling your stupid ass for the rest of my life."

When he spun Kagami around though, as expected his grin was inversely proportional to the insults he had just dished out. He looked entirely too sweet and smug and silly to be the same Kagami Taiga that he had once thought so disparaging of. The one that yelled back at him for giving him shoes. The one he could now admit he had pined over while Kuroko was still in the picture.

(He still was, kinda, just Momoi had a third baby on the way and he was across an ocean anyhow.)

"Aww, poor you." Kagami batted irritatedly at him when Aomine huffed into one ear. "Such a cruel, cruel fate for a poor kitty-cat."

Kagami shoved him away, rolling his eyes. "That is _so old_. What're you, five?"

"Twenty-five," Aomine said with a grin, "And we just made starter on the minor league so - whaddya say? Let's have a celebratory fuck?"

Kagami rolled his eyes again, but obligingly leaned in. Once the kiss would have turned real dirty, real fast, but now they both knew they had the luxury of time. They weren't going anywhere. They had rings and a house and their freaking dream jobs. He had mellowed out when it came to certain things, sure, but he didn't see it as bad anymore, because Kagami didn't mind. Kagami liked it. Kagami, taller, toned, sun-kissed, funny and irritating and perfect, rolled his hips leisurely against his in invitation, undoing his belt, pulling down the zipper. The weight of his hand moving in was familiar and welcome.

_I'm here. We're here. Together, now._

Kagami looked him straight in the eye, mouth soft and imminently kissable. "I love you, you know," he said shyly.

_And just when I thought it couldn't get better --_ With a grin, Aomine pounced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gags a little* Oh god, what did I write? That was such fluff, I'm so not kidding, I dunno how I still had this in me. 
> 
> (Now they just need kid shenanigans!)


	16. [KnB, KagaKuro, implied AoKuro] 2014.07.24:  movements of fire and shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagami's always been alone, couldn't choose otherwise but he's over it. Look at him, he's survived Alex and Himuro, and Himuro again. Now life keeps dragging and the part of him that simply watches is so far from reality he might as well be in outer space.
> 
> (He doesn't realize things have changed until they've changed for good. In both senses of the word.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually LJ's [31_days themes](http://31-days.livejournal.com/3048353.html), themes July 24th - 31st, as follows: 24. Movements of Fire and Shadow, 25. The Long, Twilight Struggle, 26. Darkness Ascending, 27. The Geometry of Shadows, 28. And The Sky Full Of Stars, 29. Ceremonies of Light and Dark, 30. The Parliament of Dreams, 31. Sleeping in Light. All of these should be present in some form, even though I've tweaked some.
> 
> This particular work was born because I've lived alone in a foreign country for five years now. Sometimes it's not easy, but it's also not particularly hard in the sense of survival. Instead, it's been some sort of ambivalent middle ground that I can never explain. I hope a sense of that uncertainty comes out in here; that was pretty much the entire point.
> 
> Also, again, my similes suck. For example: Kagami's life = a laundry cycle, Himuro = a star, etc. Oh, and I referenced "Star Wars: A New Hope" of all things - seriously, self, wtf.

He is used to the sounds of one.

One pair of sneakers. One shirt. One towel. One tube of toothpaste. 

One bicycle, one Dhermos, one set of keys. One video game controller. One bed. One pillow.

Food for one. Practice for one. Jogging for one. Shopping for one. The same school, the same people coming in and out and someone might say he isn't one at all, he's just one of a flood of sheep, all _baaa_ -ing and braying as life churns on, a laundry cycle that loops and loops endlessly. Kagami is infused with the clean detergent scent. Kagami is held under water so long he is bloated. Kagami is spun at high speed and squeezed of all moisture. Then once Kagami is beaten, flayed, pounded, scrubbed, soaked, then hung up to dry, he gets three minutes outside in the sun doing what he's supposed to be doing before the cycle starts again.

Oh, he _knows_ how this goes. And there are times he's so tired of it.

He lies down in bed and can't remember how life could be anything but this. This sameness. Thoughts of his family - well-meaning but preoccupied with their own lives and dreams - and his not-family - Himuro producing a bandaid for his scraped knees, Alex blessing each one twice, _Feel a bit better, Tiger? Uh-huh, yeah, 's'better ~~Mom~~_ \- are far away.

Kagami Taiga cooks fervently, a spread fit for an army. Kagami Taiga consumes it alone and prays thanks to his metabolism. It takes long hours to satisfy it - and in those long hours he doesn't need to think of anything but how to mix, chop, saute, bake, mince, scramble, flip sides over low heat, microwave for three minutes. 

Another cycle, spinning around and around on a glass tray before the window goes black and the food is nuked. His tongue can taste it's good, he _is_ good, Alex and Himuro always said so. _Our baby wizard's in the kitchen again_ , Alex would laugh and buss his cheek. _What's it gonna be this time? Teriyaki? Rolled omelette? Fried eggplant and daikon?_

His food is delicious. It's just missing something.

_A body in the chair across from me._

He isn't a little girl. He doesn't need to play teatime with stuffed animals. No, he eats dinner, shoots some hoops, does his homework, showers, goes to sleep. And if the sky is full of stars, bright like the way Himuro used to smile, what does he care? He was forced to leave Himuro behind. That past is a dream within a dream.

_I can't remember the taste of change._

He isn't depressed. He still laughs. He still finds things funny. He still smiles. He just does it by himself, shoulders that burden, one guy watching a game show full of bad jokes. But for real now. He was a child then. He couldn't decide who to be close to when he was little, he only knew he wanted someone else to be there. Someone to lean on. He's older this time and knows life isn't gonna be so nice as to spit him out a second Himuro or Alex (and what a mess that was in the end anyhow).

He might be better alone, he starts to think - but no. That's just the flip side of _I'm fine_.

The armslength distance between him and the world is a battered old coat he puts on before he tastes minty toothpaste in the morning. He feels more loose and drifting than the shadow guy who challenged him the other night. _Funny, that night._ His words. His conviction. His pale, frail little hands around the ball. Kagami could probably snap him in half without breaking a sweat.

He marks a strange pattern on the court with his scentlessness. Some mathematical formula that he taps into, that Kagami can also see. Some stacked angle, some geometry of shadows.

_He feels it. He knows._

When he can keep track of Kuroko, he watches him sleep in class. His bangs hide his face and somehow he keeps balance with his shoulders hunched over, yet doesn't faceplant into the textbook. His eyes rove the neat vertical lines of novels during breaks between classes. His lips do a weird pursing motion when he's amused.

He doesn't talk to anyone. 

Kuroko walks home with his back straight, posture perfect. He eats very little. He eats with little rabbit bites. He keeps his things arranged neatly in the best way possible as to conserve space. Hell, even on the court he does his magic alone - he is _one_ like Kagami is _one_.

What magic it is, though, Kagami still doesn't totally understand. He only knows that night has given him a goal, something to work towards. And that the distance between him and Kuroko is an arm bending slowly, and Kuroko is pushing at him, and for the first time since childhood Kagami is powerless to push him away. He feels like that one movie, the one where the hero and his friends get stuck in an intergalatic trash compactor, and they're screaming with the metal as the walls close in.

He doesn't know about the rest of the Miracles, but he thinks he might've dropped easier into the Zone because he knows what it is to be submerged completely, and then twisted and twisted until he's dripping with everything he's got.

And so a long night struggle becomes a prelude for a long, twilight struggle. He's fighting for the last bit of blue on the horizon - clear, hazy ice blue, but not the hot ice in Himuro's face as he says _Either way I won't be your brother anymore_ \- and it's almost a relief that it's not for him. Not all. He wants Aomine, of course, he wants a strong rival, and he can swear he actually feels his heart nowadays speeding up at the thought of clashing one more time, victory teetering on the cliffsedge before the spiralling drop. But it's mostly for Kuroko, who needs to be carried, who holds out his hand, beseeching in not so many words or expressions -

In the darkness ascending Kagami has learned to read that face, and the grace it lays upon Aomine now. They bump fists in a ceremony of light and dark. Kagami thinks he can read _one_ in the line of Aomine's spine too, except he isn't one, he's actually _two_ , because Kuroko stares after that back with a real, faint little smile on his face.

He feels the vicious urge to drop Kuroko to the ground sting him right in the chest then. It's a hot ice kind of feeling. 

He didn't even know he hoped until hope drowned, flailing for air, choking on its own spit, rattling the metal cage desperate for escape. Wide-eyed and dizzied up, then spreadeagled again on the cross, spat at, laughed at in the privacy of Kagami's own mind. He didn't cry; he was out of tears. Too old for them. He should have known better; he knew the cycle. _Rinse and repeat._

He has the power now to push Kuroko away, whereas he was almost touching Kagami before. Almost laid his finger on Kagami's heart. He's aware he did this to himself, just like Himuro did it to himself, just like Alex couldn't help but get caught in between. _Humans cannot live without others._ He's always hated being bound to Earth.

_If I could actually fly, I'd fly away._ But he's still got things to do. The Parliament of Dreams still rules, judging him fit to continue, _Court adjourns now with case number Crazy Fucking Rainbow Sprinkles_ , and it's just luck that has him standing for a moment with the brand of Seirin's fists on his body, so hot and real he swears he could lift his shirt and see the coals, just plain dumb luck. Lucky he has a team. Lucky he's not injured like Kiyoshi. Lucky he's got a body and a will to see this through. Lucky he loves walking, no, dashing the sheer hairsbreath of challenge, the searing, burning taste of it as he reaches higher for the sky, the stars in Himuro's eyes, Kuroko's lips upcurled like pinion feathers, Aomine and Kise's voices snapping tornado wind under his feet -

He realizes, a beat after he's aloft, that he is _many_.

He wants to ask, afterwards. Wants to demand if Kuroko planned this, planned to shine the lamp right in his face and illuminate this fact of life at the last possible moment. That in the course of his own dreams, he would realize Kagami's too. But of course it isn't that way. He's talked about the nights before games, but that's only a tiny, tiny part of it. There isn't anyone they know who's been as lonely as Kagami. Kuroko isn't the same; Kuroko likes spending time by himself.

And the backlash is terrible. After the celebrating, after the back-pounding and the hugging and visiting the hospital for Kiyoshi and impromptu Maji Burger parties at his house, after the _joy_ , he's left listening to his own heart again. It beats one-soft, one-loud in the dark. He thinks it says a lot of things to him, but really it's just one thing.

_You-are. A-lone._

Except he's really not.

He sighs, turns to face the wall, and hits what should be his comforter, except it isn't, it's a body and two luminous eyes wide and staring for maximum creepy effect. Something grabs his arm at the same time as something else snuffles behind him - it's totally not his fault that Kagami screeches and goes over the side, almost squashing the dog in his haste.

He curls up like a pillbug where he's hit his head on the wall. "Gah - shit - goddammit, Kuroko!" Nigou barks cheerfully in response and he hastily backs up, blindly reaching for the bed and pulling himself back onto it. "Why the hell is the mutt still here!"

"I thought you would take that as a sign that I wanted to stay over."

"I thought you were just gonna pick him up tomorrow! Also, just because I live alone doesn't mean you can just invite yourself over anytime - you actually have parents who live at home! They'll worry if you stay out."

"But Kagami-kun doesn't." That voice is fiercer than he thought it would be. The static is mostly gone from his vision so he looks back and yeah, the face matches the voice. In Kuroko's eyes flicker movements of fire and shadow, though Kagami's probably the same - the game has yet to fade from the backs of his eyelids too.

And that gives him a reason to scoff, because worse comes to worst, he'll go downstairs. The apartment's got a court in the back and he isn't allowed to turn on the court lights after ten PM, but the streetlamps give off enough illumination. "I've done this for years, Kuroko." It comes out more raw than it usually does. "I can do this. Go home."

Kuroko sits up perfectly still, not a hair on his bedhead moving. They play a staring game for a minute, but he's being perfectly rational, so Kagami doesn't look away.

Finally Kuroko says very softly, "No, Kagami-kun."

The courts until he can dreamlessly pass out, then. "Suit yourself." Cringing, he tentatively tries to wave the dog out so he can change, and heaves a huge sigh of relief when Nigou just gives him a _What, really?_ kind of look and trots out obediently. Then, because it's just Kuroko, he strips down to underwear and pulls on practice clothes -

\- a cool finger traces the rim of his boxers and he jumps. "Kuroko!" The waistband dips down, but Kuroko's too fast, he avoids Kagami's irritated swipe. "What the heck are you doing!?"

"So that's why," Kuroko murmurs, and releases the elastic with a light _snap!_ Kagami rubs his ass, remembering how the pain flared searing red as he screamed over the dog's snarls - he knows he's blushing. He pointedly drags his underwear up a centimeter, then tucks the workout pants neatly over them. A shirt and jacket, just until he warms up - his home practice bag and keys -

"You're going out," Kuroko says flatly. Kagami turns back to look. It's dark with the blinds drawn but the light's enough so he makes out the shine of Kuroko's eyes at shoulder-height and some pale swoops of his hair, standing up from where his head has been lying on Kagami's pillow. He's in one of Kagami's sleep shirts - Kagami doesn't know how he found those, he doesn't think being able to successfully observe people extends to knowing where people store things - and no pajama pants. Probably too big for him. The shirt is already halfway down his thighs, the collar exposing Kuroko's white shoulder.

"To practice for a bit, yeah."

"You're not going to sleep tonight." A question phrased as a statement.

"Naw, I will, just a little later." And because Kuroko is still staring at him, he adds, "Dude, if you didn't want to go home tonight for whatever reason, you could have just told me. It wouldn't be the first time you stayed over. Take the bed, alright? You need to recover more than I do." He remembers how they stood there leaning against each other in the middle of the court, unable to move.

"But Kagami-kun stayed up last night." His pre-game insomnia.

"I just said, gotta work off some steam. Be back in a bit."

"No," Kuroko says, and a pale, frail hand fists the back of Kagami's shirt. "Kagami-kun should sleep now. In the bed. With me."

Hope flares like old parchment on almost-dead coals, black curling the fibers, ash flittering upwards. Hope digs its tiny, curved claws into the sides of the balloon to make insides outside, spilling liquid and gas, dribbling emotion that Kagami can't see but feels draining out of him, gray-smokey and sad. He's hard-pressed to remember hope is the greater danger.

He doesn't touch Kuroko. He tells himself it's because Kuroko's farther than an armslength now that his dreams have come true. Kagami's own wishes aren't so concrete or easily granted.

"Go to sleep, Kuroko." He's wired and tired at the same time.

"Not without you."

He's already turning away towards the door. He's thinking about the routine. He could go running, the park's nearby and it's got lights, no tripping in the darkness. He could shoot a hundred hoops. He could do some agility things the coach taught him. He could do a hundred pushups. He could stay inside and cook tomorrow's breakfast.

He could also turn back and be swayed by the promise he fools himself into seeing reflected in Kuroko's eyes, the one clad in his sleepwear, clad in his scent. Sneaking into his bed at night. Hiding in his blankets. Grasping him gently and firmly by the wrist.

He thinks all this time living alone has made him sick, thinking of another man's guy like that. Kuroko was never his. Kuroko belongs with his own not-family. Kuroko has no place bursting in the back of his eyelids as Kagami arches, panting around his fists, leaving teethmarks on his knuckles when he comes. He's a sweaty mess afterwards and the hollow pit in his stomach yawns wider and more bottomless than ever. He used to spend his days openmouthed, hungry for hunger itself, but now that he's been upgraded to wanting a real person, he's pretty sure it's worse.

Still, their partnership makes him pause at the door. He doesn't dare turn around; Kuroko will look at him and before he knows it, he'll be changed and on his back, praying for no awkward morning wood. It's safer to keep staring straight forward.

He thinks about the truth of _I can't, Kuroko_ crossing his lips. But it's bile that rises to his throat instead. He remembers this sensation. He remembers it from when Himuro bet on the ring and punched him and no amount of _sorry_ and _Bros forever_ will erase the realization that this is who Kagami Taiga is, that he can leap higher and dunk harder than a whole lot of people, but even he has times when things just don't turn out the way he wants.

There's another truth there: _I'm sorry I can't be what you want._

He says these things in his head. He doesn't need to say them out loud. Silence already knows what they are; silence doesn't need to be broken.

He shrugs on the battered, old coat of _one_ -

Kuroko is surprisingly warm against his back. Kagami reminds himself he's been hiding in Kagami's blankets for over an hour as he picked up after his guests, tossed out the garbage, took a shower, rinsed the dishes, and grimaced at the dog curled up in front of his heater. Kuroko's arms wrap around his chest and he's trembling a little with effort, though what for, Kagami isn't sure. He _is_ sure he could still snap Kuroko in half.

(He doesn't want to. He wants to lean into Kuroko's touch.

Because right now he has a second heart beating underneath his, a second set of one-soft, one-hard, and he swallows hard to feel the claws dig in some more, hope spinning-cycle of its own accord -) 

He lets himself turn but he doesn't let himself look down. Setting a hand on Kuroko's mop of blue hair is normal and friendly. So is curling his extra arm around Kuroko's shoulders, just for a second. "You should really go home," he tries. "Won't your parents be worried -"

Kuroko's lips are soft and shivering, he's shivering because of the cold, or because he has to stand on tip-toe, or because Kagami's body has suddenly become a block of immovable stone. No, that's wrong - Kagami's shivering, he's pulling back with a gasp because he never knew hope could feel like this, gnawing and tearing away the distance in the blink of an eye and Kuroko doesn't just have a finger on his heart anymore, his hand is closed around it and he's squeezing it like he's going for the world record of how many times a person can squeeze a stress ball in a minute -

When they break he backs straight into the door, which rattles under Nigou's scratching a unsaid doggie question. It gives him the opportunity to scrabble for the doorknob and flee before there are apologies or confessions or any other things that fuck with the old continuum of eat, school, basketball, sleep, since Kuroko is a sneaky little shit at getting under his skin and shaking things up until Kagami can't even recognize himself anymore.

He's shoving his feet into his sneakers at the door when the question of _Do you know you're happy?_ floats to the top of his mind and he stops. _Am I?_ He sets down his bag. Nigou whines and he shushes him, the neighbors are asleep. Lucky them, their hearts pound twice with an extra beat for the baby that's in the wife's belly. The rhythm of their lives is probably something upbeat and singingly cheerful.

Kagami isn't gloomy or moody or dark. He thinks he's pretty normal except where he's odd, like the basketball obsession. He really doesn't understand why Kuroko just kissed him. He's just, he's - he's just -

_I'm just like them._

He's just walking back towards the bedroom, is all. He's just opening the door. Falling into bed, finding Kuroko easily under the blankets, feeling him shake and his face is hot and he's crying, oh, he's crying, _oh_ \- he's just holding Kuroko and saying something, could be English, he's not sure, but he's holding tight and hope's like a sunbeacon that chases away the clouds -

"- I don't, I just don't want to be lonely but they're yours, you're theirs, and I didn't know it could feel this way, Kuroko, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, here, please, Kuroko -" His Shadow's face is a mess of tears but he blesses it everywhere until the hiccups stop and Kuroko reaches out for him in return. Clings to him, hip to stomach, legs entangled, little sobs puffing against Kagami's nose until those stop too. He thinks they could spend hours, days kissing. He thinks he could spend forever feeling like _two_ until the end of time.

"I couldn't walk away," he admits. "Even if you really should go with somebody else."

Kuroko blinks and a hundred understandings pass at once. "I belong with you," he answers. "I wanted to wait until after the Winter Cup finished, but I'm yours now. I would be here even if we lost."

He can barely speak. "Really?"

"Really."

"I'm not..." he tries. "I can't. Um. Kuroko, I don't think I'm going to be any good at this."

"Tell me someone who's good at relationships, and I'll give _them_ a Cup," Kuroko mutters, already yawning. The bed dips as the dog climbs in - Kagami holds Kuroko in front of him like an offering, or maybe a shield - and disinterestedly curls up at the foot of the bed. Kagami's heart is pounding again, except it isn't out of anticipation or shock, it's out of fear, and he scoots until his back's against the wall and he has no avenue of escape.

Kuroko scoots with him, cheek pressed to Kagami's chest. When Kagami reaches out he could almost picture his hand going almost all the way around Kuroko's thin neck - but right now it's only so he can feel proof of life throbbing away against the web of his thumb and pointer finger, counterpoint to his own. 

He takes a breath and smells clean soap-scent that isn't his, but is mixed with his detergent. He has to stop himself from praying for mercy from morning boners; maybe they're alright now. Nah. Probably still awkward.

Maybe he is alright with change. No - his life _has_ been changing since that night, he just didn't notice it. Like growing taller when he sees himself in the mirror every day. Gathering, rolling momentum little by little. It's not just Kuroko, it's also Seirin and Kuroko's not-family, and Kuroko's not-family's not-family, and the night's warping all of his thoughts except for the ones that say, _He took a chance on you, he thinks you can do this, somehow it just became more along the way._

He wakes to see Kuroko sleeping in the light of the dawn, body lax and edges blurred into weariness. He doesn't move, doesn't blink - he thinks it still might be an ethereal wish.

It's not. He kisses Kuroko's lips. Those pale eyelashes stir, nothing more. It's still not.

He wouldn't be Kagami Taiga, he wouldn't be who he was without the path he already walked as _one_. He wouldn't be where he is, home, because home feels like Kuroko's arms, Kuroko's breath, Kuroko's everything that he claims belongs to Kagami now. As if he's Kagami's hope that refused to be blown out, except human-sized and real and tangible, sighing softly, lips pursed in amusement or comfort. Melting into the touch of Kagami's fingernails barely scraping the ends of his hair.

It's the first time Kagami's been grateful in forever, and he thinks it might not be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god the ending. So abrupt. *cries* Too bad I couldn't think of anything else and didn't have the patience to actually write porn here. Sorry Kagami, sorry Kuroko. You'll have to do the dirty in some other fic I'll inevitably write.


	17. [KnB, HimuKaga/KagaHimu, KuroKaga, AoKuro/KuroAo] 2014.08.17: stranded in some skin and bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [Chapter 9](http://archiveofourown.org/works/739900/chapters/4254192). Kagami's not about to let things end so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty fractured; not as flowy as I would have liked. Still, this plotbunny is finally done.

When he looked down at Los Angeles for the last time from the plane window.

When he realized no bum leg, no excuses, no bravado could convince himself Aomine wasn't stronger.

When they lost to Touou.

When he saw Kuroko cry.

When Tatsuya fixed his eyes on Taiga's shoulder and said, "Lemme see you become number one, bro." His voice was sibilant, lost in the wind. Lost in the riptide that had clutched greedily at the slopes of hope, and sank back down with a sigh that echoed up the whole coast. These things, they all threw a wrench in the machine, stopped the gears from grinding, the sawteeth from catching. Turned Taiga into some doll with a concave chest. _Oh, sweet blooming pain._

He had imagined, an absent endnote in the pathetic daydream of college ball and subsequent rising star of the NBA, a girl with dark hair that loved the same sport, and loved him for playing it. And that was really the thing, wasn't it? A million miles apart, Tatsuya could still seize his heart in his hand, play with it, tease it with prods of ice cream and hot American asphalt - squeeze, squeeze, squeeze to a pulp when Taiga remembered how he hated love and loved hate. His, Tatsuya's, it didn't matter - it was all the same loop, the same celestial cycle that spun them both in dizzying circles until he felt like puking.

That second after _I hurt you_ that yawned lionlike, openmouthed and waiting.

In another world Taiga would have realized there was no girl with black hair, no hate, no time better, _seize it, dammit, seize it_ , and reach out like some hackneyed character for Tatsuya's hand. It would be chapped and warm, like Tatsuya's mouth that Taiga could only remember vaguely. Birthday party. Warm breath. Some soft pressure. Instead he felt faintly sour and tasting empty wind.

He knew just the thing, but he couldn't -- get -- the -- damn -- thing -- out.

When it did come tumbling from his lips Kuroko was standing less than elbow length away. Eyes clear and blue, the silence pounding after his words. _I love you, Kagami-kun, I am in love with you._ And Taiga's desperate _Shitsdammit, I can't, I'm sorry_ had been half tears, half relief, Kuroko knew, Kuroko understood - he folded Kuroko into his arms, or Kuroko into his arms, and they could be crying for the same reason or for different ones, Taiga couldn't bring himself to care. He could only think, _I'm not gonna be like him. I'm not gonna let me slip away._

He held onto Kuroko like he imagined the way he would hold Tatsuya. With all his strength, all his might. Like the world was ending. Like he would never let go. And when Kuroko clutched back at him he only felt it was the assertation to move, strive, seek, never yield - to be as kind and strong as Tatsuya had been.

He had a vague idea of what his life would be like if Tatsuya was suddenly there, taking up the black hole next to him, filing the edges where Taiga was too sharp. Again. But in real life, it held true, this strange synchrony, they still had it. Reaching for the other's pass, darting towards the place the other expected them to be. The only match for them was Aomine and Kuroko, standing too far from each other to be fully forgiven save their eyes, which tentatively bridged the gap and held on tight.

_I'm gonna love you_ , Taiga pictured him and Aomine sharing a manga speech cloud that floated above their heads. And the dotted silence that followed as Tatsuya rolled the words in his mind before turning away. Incidentally, that didn't answer any of Taiga's bubbling questions, but at the forefront there was something bigger, higher that made his stomach soar when he clapped Tatsuya on the shoulder and one of his fingers stung from touching skin, sweaty and soft, and Taiga was so out of practice from pretending he went stiff when Tatsuya went stiff. Then Tatsuya did the expected thing, and turned away. 

_Just like old times_ , he reminded himself. The sour taste was back. He still remembered following on the heels of this sun and how it dragged him all over the earth in some ridiculous circumference of the world. Smearing his face into the dirt until he couldn't breathe and only tears cleared the air, cleared his choked lungs.

They were both different now and this time, he didn't give Tatsuya a chance to escape. "Come with me," he said, and didn't care if it was guilt or nostalgia or boredom that Tatsuya followed. He only wanted more time, just one more second with that star next to him.

Tatsuya was so warm. The drape of his hair, the dot he didn't cover up. Holding himself firmly, tenderly, the tilt of his body like some poetry only Taiga could understand the beauty of. His fingers were longer, handing Taiga's jacket back to him at the end of the night, making noises of _Sorry for borrowing that all night_ and _Dinner was delicious_ and _Thanks for the movie_. It was strange how his cheeks, his mouth looked so soft and full and young, yet the rest of his body was shuttered and old. Tired of running.

Taiga wanted to ask him, like he always asked his big brother, _What's the way to do this right?_ He got the feeling Tatsuya would answer that he didn't know while actually knowing. Alex had always been right, Tatsuya was kind, especially when he thought things were better left unsaid. 

In this moment, right now, Taiga wanted to say the thing. He wanted so many things. Some of them even came true these days. But right now, he wanted Tatsuya's lips again.

Not immediately. Not at the get go. When Tatsuya turned to go inside it was like time rolled half speed, one-fourth speed, slower, slower, molasses-slow...but then he had dragged Tatsuya off the front step back outside with a yelp of surprise and he was there with his expensive shampoo and the tickle of his hair, expected and familiar, his full-body weight crashing into Taiga's chest. Taiga was sure he was bleeding somewhere, his heart had been vacuum-sucked clear of juice, he was stranded in some skin and bones -

\- the first sound in his ears was an inaudible pant against his shoulder, and then a tug on the back of his shirt, and Tatsuya was dragging, melting him down, knees splaying as he drew another breath, shaky and real, a tidal wave of emotion rising, rolling overhead, melting further as Taiga whispered _I'm sorry too_ , time reversing back to when they were kids and their whole worlds were allowed to be each other. And the one word they never said.

That word grew strength, unfurling from the ball of wet anxiety at the back of Taiga's throat. His first time was a croak, airless, incomprehensible except for the tone and his partner in conversation that knew all the inflections. Had raised Taiga to be what he was. Had given Taiga the infinite colors and meanings of living. Just to make sure, he leaned down. Tatsuya's mouth was a quandry, his synapses didn't know what to recognize first because it was all so shocking good. Tatsuya's tongue was an aphrodisiac, Tatsuya's taste was a drug - they stayed like that as the stars wheeled overhead and they were dizzy-sick and flushed, and the very last disappointment in Taiga's heart was dumped into the ocean by hope.

He thought this was how people might look at weddings, seeing the person they were about to swear their lives to. _Do you take this man as -_ "Do you want me?" came rolling out on top of itself, head over heels. 

"I'll never leave," Tatsuya said back, and it wasn't an answer. Still, Taiga knew what he meant. It left him with an embarrassing, breathless laugh as his ribcage rebuilt itself from the inside with fire and unbreakable steel, the strength that Tatsuya had always given him, that belief that had pushed him so far. Might push him until the end. _I'm here for you, Taiga._

Now, he would have time to relearn all of the time and Tatsuya's language that he had missed.


	18. [RuroKen, implied Aoshi/Misao] 2014.09.01:  save yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three snapshots of Aoshi before, after, and after-after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saw the 3rd movie, with Iseya-san as Aoshi. And pretty much couldn't resist writing this, though this is based off of manga canon.

1\. Save yourself  
[2014.09.14]

**_I will._ **

The sword is always the first thing to be seen. Long and black. Too long, too black. A man tried to steal it once, and he never went home. Policemen tried to arrest him, they didn't go home either.

He's seen the blades a million times. From the first time in the forge, firelight flickering over the steel, to the last time, a man begging on the road who nodded eagerly when Aoshi mentioned the Battousai and yet cringed and cried under half-truths and fumbled specifics. Wild dogs came out of the brush to inspect the corpse as he sat down a stone's throw away to fill his stomach with tea and rice balls from the last town. He watched them bicker and fight over the choice pieces and then be replaced by carrion crows.

He imagines what he will say when he sees the man again. What epithets he will spit. What curses, whipped and flailed, the last bits of sympathy before he falls into the silence of _shura_. He thinks once they are said, there will be nothing but the plunge, metallic and cool. Communication in strength and split flesh.

The dark, liquid emotion that creeps and covers the haze of Misao's tears - is a fierce, black joy.

**_I will not._ **

He had been twisted and bent at every turn. Hope solely in the moment, beating its wings against the cage. The only feeling he thought he had left. But he was wrong; that was not hope, and he was not altruistic. He was purely selfish, or selfishly pure - both, none, he can't decide because he only feels hurt now, also beating and throbbing in the moment, dying red wood and paper alike.

He can't think except for what Battousai had said, _Wake up, Aoshi_ , and that somewhere in him he had responded from a lost animal to another. Battousai had done this. Battousai had spilled the truth in rolling heads. Battousai had spoken of Aoshi's friends. Of devotion. Of plain and simple love. Aoshi remembers for a clear moment Hannya in the yard in front of a little girl, fingers light on her elbows as he corrected her stance. He was unmasked. Okina sat behind him, an empty teacup abandoned on the tray next to him. He had one hand on the belly of the cat in his lap and the other waved a cattail frond back and forth. The feline batted lazily at it.

Is Okina dead? Grief unfurls in a wave, but Aoshi only blinks at the stone ceiling of the library. Misao had loved him despite the ability to show emotion that he had lost somewhere along the way. He had been loved despite the difficulties, the pressure, the jobs thrust upon him. The depths he had fallen to.

He dared not think of the word _forgiven_ \- but oh, once it surfaced, it towed real hope behind it. He is humbled and beaten by this new rush. He is sunk in the face of his sins.

He contemplates for a moment of never going back, of staying away - of never seeing Misao's tears, but no. That is the consequence has to live with, along with living the part of the dead. He has no excuses this time. _No more running away._

He wants to tell her, _Save yourself_ , because he is coming home. He is going to unleash years and years of strange pauses and awkward phrasing and tiptoe-dancing around certain subjects. He is going to look her and Okina and all the others in the eye one by one and tell them he's sorry, but even then it isn't going to be enough. He is still going to be the stone-faced ghost who floats around the dojo with a bunch of advanced moves that mean nothing in peaceful times, unable to do more than air blankets and futons and pillows and stack embroidered cushions into the closets. Aoshi doesn't even know how to make tea.

But he is not blinded anymore. He will face Misao and her mercy, her unwavering courage. And when he passes through that fire, he thinks he will finally understand just who Shinomori Aoshi is.

**_I will not hide._ **

He can polish a pot, he thinks. Polish the dull copper kettle that they use to heat the bathwater. No matter he sits like a fool with his legs cupping the sides and the rag scraping the bottom abrasively. No matter the metal doesn't really need to be shined, it's only used to heat water, after all.

There are still times when he goes out, long and soundless shadow, sometimes for no more than an evening walk. The lie of _my Bakumatsu has not ended_ weakens every time he sees the same streets rebuilt with, by the same humans. Older with children. Some still grasping for the invisible swords at their sides when they hear loud noises. Laughing or crying, it's all the same. Personal notes only echo lightly at Misao's bright voice, Okina's raspy chuckle. The hum of the inn as he pauses arranging the dinner trays when he thinks he's gotten the faintest whiff of blood.

(Other times come by courier or are hawked by newsletters. Odd incidents, hushed-up murders - the Tokaido is well-patroned and well-patrolled by police. Saitou never stops at the Aoiya. Sometimes it isn't even him. Aoshi goes out anyway, not because it is plea for help as much as it is a point of pride. He is relearning in little steps how to shrug off his familiar traveling clothes and listen to the pulse of Okina's city.)

Battousai stops in once a year, occasionally with his teacher or new family in tow. Aoshi knows nothing of real dreams, much less the conception and carrying out of, or so he tells himself when the child is handed to him for the first time. Himura Kenji takes one look at his grave face and screams, _screams_ like all his nightmares have come true and his world is ending, which accurately reflects how Aoshi feels. Because forget the Bakumatsu and its gory horrors, he is holding a hot, squalling, smelly little monster by the armpits while everyone around him erupts into laughter.

There is a look then, when Misao touches him for the first time, tearfully lost in her hilarity as she tugs his shoulder too hard, that communicates something more than anger or sadness in her frankest moments. It is warm, he realizes. It shares the beat of his unshown mortification and secret delight. It is as familiar to him as his traveling coat and blades, the press of her body against his.

He and Battousai share a singular pleasing interview, spent mostly meditating, broken up with tea (it is still too strong, Aoshi reads from the kinship of _loss_ ). And a few lines of dialogue.

"You are recovering well, I think?"

"Yes."

"She is waiting for you, she is."

"I know."

Strange kinship indeed. Nothing of censure, nothing of superiority or pride. Himura Battousai has, in the course of time, slipped into the role Aoshi's subordinates and only friends had once played. Another foreign word: _friend_. Battousai and him spent most of their time together looking out towards the stone garden, watching the rain drip off the leaves, listening the _clack_ of the bamboo fountain. But right now he is watching Aoshi steadily, mildly, without fear. Aoshi knows his katana is upstairs where his wife is nursing the babe. 

He doesn't need to say the ugly truth this time, Aoshi hears it all the same. _You need to go to her._

That night when their guests are in bed and the Aoiya is slowly listing towards slumber, he finds Misao washing the last of the dishes in the kitchen. Practical and efficient, she dunks the bowls in one bucket, scrubs, and dunks them in another, with the same rhythm he remembers from the practice dummy, morning katas, and shuriken practice.

Thus he knows the free second to take her hand - smaller by far, frail, breakable that hides power that could beat and snap a full-grown man - and hold it for a moment while they are alone. It is cowardice that he doesn't meet her eyes at first. But once he is looking, he forgets why he didn't look in the first place.

Because she is the same Misao he has always known. The one that knows _him_. She is clear-eyed now as she seeks through skin, scalp, bone and accepts his mind, like he holds emotion underwater until there is no fear of it showing on his face. _No fear._

Her hair, her cheek, her shoulder - they all call to him to be reassured for an instant he is here, her _Aoshi-sama_. With great effort he swallows that too. He grips her hand a little tighter.

And is rewarded with the dawn of flame in her smile that licks over his skin. It is warm, he thinks, the perfect temperature. And not a trial at all to keep watching until he drowns.

**_I will not hide anymore._ **


	19. [RuroKen, Kenshin/Sanosuke BFFs] 2014.09.17: skeletons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misao muses on Kenshin and Sanosuke and herself and Aoshi as she spies on two best friends doing what best friends do best: inhabit each other's space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I fudged some details of stuff in this. I don't know if anyone else thinks Misao = ninja = some level of reconnaissance skill??, but I've exploited my own ideas for that here. I may be overthinking the people-reading thing (or projecting my own personality) onto her. I _know_ I've projected me and my best friend's relationship onto Kenshin and Sanosuke. This is really how I feel for her - an extension of my own body and wishes and hopes that feels borderline incestuous except we're not sisters. The liberties we take with each other are too numerous - and yet, even after the ones that separate us for a long time, somehow we still fit together so well. Imagining that for Sanosuke and Kenshin was pretty fun (and fitting). 
> 
> As the story is from Misao's POV, I used the names I think she uses in her head. Though it was a toss-up between "Aoshi" and "Aoshi-sama". Hope this doesn't trip up anyone.

5\. skeletons  
[2014.09.17]

 

No one can ever say that she stands still but that only means her retort is, _I'm not the only one. Just look at him._

And there he is, in all his fool glory. Why he and Aoshi wear white, she'll never know, all it does is get dirty. And black border speckled and brushed tan from falling in the dust so many times - taking or giving a beating, does it matter? He hands all comers invitations as if he looped black and bold characters on rice paper with a smear of blood as a taunt. If there is any fighter who is Aoshi's opposite, it would be Sagara Sanosuke; she's always hard-pressed to believe they were in the same scuffle when Aoshi looks the same as he always does, not even limping a little, whereas Sanosuke is leaning like a drunk sailor with his grin dyed hideously red and bruises ripening to the color of plums.

In repose? _What repose_ , she scoffs. Catnapping, he lifts a hand to his chest, scratching lazily, feet smacking together to ward off the mosquitoes. She doesn't begrudge him the mess he leaves with his dirty coat all over the place, sweat-streaked hair, pants so dirt-encrusted a shrub could grow from them with a good watering. The man himself seems eternally thirsty. Sanosuke drinks something like three jugs a day given the chance, gobbles and gulps until the sake dribbles down his chin. He always wipes it only half-clean, jaw shining, abandoning cup and liquid in favor of sinking to the Aoiya's floorboards, eyes lidding, hand moving the fan sleepily back and forth to produce barely a wisp.

What is surprising is that after however many years and adventures away, he is talking quite normally. And Himura is talking back. If Misao blinked, she could reroll the story-scroll back to the start of their acquaintance, when Grandfather was still alive. Then she blinks again and Sanosuke has grown stubbly and long-haired in a second. Laugh lines appear deeper, etched to both sides of Himura's smile.

Sanosuke grumbles, turns pointedly away from the sun. He's still fanning, though the air seems to be hitting Himura more than himself. "They started it."

"Sano-san always says that. It's why Megumi-dono is always in a state of worry over the next time you'll darken her doorstep."

And then comes the _real_ difference. Just a little shift in the air. Sanosuke's hand doesn't even stop waving. After a second he reaches out barely far enough to tuck his fingers under Himura's hakama. " 'm sorry," he mumbles.

There are three empty jugs lined up next to him, so there's a ready reason not to take him seriously. But Himura only lays a hand on Sanosuke's sweaty head and replies, "I understand. You had to go."

"I left you behind."

"I know why."

"I made you worry."

"That's all right."

"I thought of you all the time," Sanosuke says a little desperately. "You and the others. But mostly you."

Taken out of context and inserted in another person's mouth, Misao might have blushed, grasped at ineffectual excuses, and retreated. She might have read the eddies and currents of this conversation differently. After all, Himura looks like that for no one else in the world as he plays with the ends of Sanosuke's hair, twisting strands between his fingers, while Sanosuke beats a reassuring breeze against his face.

"I thought of you too. I remembered all the times we had together."

"Don't say 'remember'. It makes me sound like I'm dead."

There is a long pause. It is filled with the kinds of words Misao thinks people fumble at the most in life. It is the kind of silence that Aoshi leans on too often to say the things that he doesn't want to say, because saying them somehow would make the sin real again. Would make them reflect once more on his difficult personality and how/what it takes to forgive. How twisted and knotted. What a long journey - and Misao isn't even twenty-five yet.

Whatever comes out of this silence is apparently good, however, because Sanosuke rolls rebelliously content onto his back to scratch under the bandages. In doing so, Himura shifts a little too on his cushion. Idly his legs kick the air under the porch for a moment - as if Sanosuke's boyishness is contagious. At the same time, Sanosuke lays the fan to rest right over his face and freezes in perfect relaxation, like the inhale before one of Himura's attacks.

"Eh. I'm here now."

"That you are." Himura's voice is warm. He rests his palm against Sanosuke's bandanna.

"You are too."

"That I am."

"I wonder what's for dinner tonight? I'm hoping cold noodles, the thin white kind with dashi dipping soup. And eggplant, daikon, the little green shoots. The works." Sanosuke gets up on one elbow, knocking the fan down in the process. "Hey, Kenshin, you're cooking right? Tell them I want cold noodles."

"I believe it is stewed chicken, quail eggs and bean sprouts in soy sauce tonight -"

Sanosuke slumps back down, the picture of dejected misery. "Oh c'mon, if I eat something hot right now you're gonna have to ship me back to Tokyo in a barrel. Because I'll be totally melted."

"- why don't you tell them yourself? And help me in the kitchen while you're at it. Then you can make sure the food is to your taste."

Indolently Sanosuke scoots until his head is squarely in Himura's lap. Obligingly Himura blots his sweat-beaded hairline with a handkerchief, like a servant or a - a _wife_. 

(Misao doesn't want to know what Kaoru thinks of this.) 

The kenkaya's face scrunches for a moment before tossing one syllable out of all the possible clumsy questions and awkward answers: "Yeah?"

"Mm." Himura has never been a loquacious man, but this is ridiculous.

"Now?"

"Yes."

Sanosuke rolls to his feet in an instant, fit and fighting-ready, though Misao hopes no fights will occur in the kitchen, of all places. "Right then! What're we making? Cold noodles, right?"

Himura's voice is full of amusement. "As you wish. But you will have to make them yourself."

His spirit is undimmed. "That's alright. Hey, I learned this dipping sauce from the north. If the kitchen's got enough peppers, I can show you."

"If you want. Tie your hair back." Himura produces one of Kaoru's hair ties.

"Mm." Sanosuke says nothing more, just bumps Himura with his elbow while he is pulling back his hair. By the third nudge Misao is sure it is on purpose, but Himura doesn't move away. He stays right where he is, a little in front and to the right of Sanosuke, exactly at the distance where if he stopped and turned, he would get a faceful of Sanosuke's bare chest. As embarrassing as that might play out in Misao's imagination, yelping squashed-nose Himura and blustering Sanosuke, a little part of her brain still registers it's closer than she has ever walked with Aoshi.

Himura doesn't move because that is his space. No pensive, peaceful, lengthy meditation with Aoshi can compare to what he looks like now, smiling softly where he belongs. No skeletons dangling over his eyes in the breath he takes before he drinks his tea in worrying amounts - as much as Sanosuke, multiple pots a day.

"You don't want? It's not spicy."

Himura pats Sanosuke's arm. "Anything you like, Sano. Show me."

Sanosuke's head ducks down in the way he doesn't do for anyone but Himura . "Right then."

As they disappear into the kitchen, Misao can only hope time gives her and Aoshi what Himura and Sanosuke seem to achieve effortlessly. Some mutual sympathy. Some leaning haystack of collected emotion. Some soul, muddied and blurred in the middle, yet the silhouette very dark and clear, a bubble around them both.

 _Some whole_ , she thinks, and slips out from the pillar in the corner to collect Sanosuke's jugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a line in [Nakashima Mika's "Yuki no Hana"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mF5Qq2YheTg) (Snowflakes/Snow Flurries...or something like that). A rough translation is, "I learned that wanting to do something for someone is what love is." It's a line I kept repeating as I wrote this.


	20. [YYH, Toguro/Yusuke, Yusuke/Keiko] 2014.09.03:  truancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Universe - Future. Possibly not canon compliant. Premise is that Toguro has been released from Hell to work for Koenma. Yusuke still is too. And somehow they keep meeting each other after Yusuke's done with something, in a cave to fight off the adrenaline, and then a bed to assuage the other part of their dynamic. Yusuke doesn't have a name for it. _Relationship_ is too serious, and _fuck buddy_ is too casual. Either way, the only important things are that it keeps happening and nobody finds out before Yusuke can figure out how to quit this addiction. If he even can.
> 
> (Basically, Yusuke and Toguro have semi-regular sex. This is one of those times.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean to write this. I just finished rewatching the first Ankoku Bujutsukai, is all. And I have something for people who fixate on other people. My impression from watching the whole thing was that Toguro fixated on Yusuke, and _didn't_ really fixate on Genkai. I could be wrong; there's this whole unspoken history here that is not shown. But I definitely felt Toguro/Yusuke rather than Toguro/Genkai.
> 
> That said, whatever canon-compliant or non-compliant, this is a messed up piece of size kink, power play, and just plain old PWP. If semi-hatesex is not your cup of tea, please refrain from reading further.

3\. truancy  
[2014.09.17]

 

He can't help it. He takes an extra day on trips to Makai. He hones in on a cave set in a mountain that leads down into the stone, dripping calcium and the fronds from vines that creep over the mossy stones, bugs and bats that glow in the dark. Toguro always hears about his assignments beforehand and comes from whatever far off corner he's investigating under Koenma. He always makes time to meet his rival.

Sometimes Yusuke doesn't win. Sometimes he exhausts all of his reiki and Toguro's still standing like a monolith, except even more solid. They fight down in this giant cavern for that reason: his size. Head and shoulders and shoulders above Yusuke, though he hit a growth spurt right before he got married. _Keiko and the kids_ , he thinks. _Just one day. One more day._

Somewhere in the middle of punching the daylights out of each other or trying to eviscerate by ways of pummeling reiki into each other's guts, energy dips low enough so another switch hits. Toguro pulls him on top and they're not wrestling, they're groping. Their feet tangle but it's on purpose. Toguro pulls him down, down and teeth in lips and lips in teeth, _oh_ \- there isn't anyone else who Yusuke lets do this to him. There isn't anyone who knows him so well.

Then Toguro palms the front of his pants and Yusuke can only arch in. They grind for a long minute before getting up. Yusuke's knees are shaking all the way to the dirty, abandoned futon with cotton coming out of one corner. They don't wait, they just collapse on top and Yusuke rolls their bodies and their hips meet -

The first in the stolen day takes only five minutes of rutting before Yusuke comes. The second time is slower but still really fast; Toguro only manages to get their pants off before he can't wait, curls one meaty palm around Yusuke's cock and makes the insides of Yusuke's eyelids flash technicolor rainbow static-white. 

The third time is the one. The one that sticks three fingers in Yusuke's mouth so he can lick, not that saliva is ever enough. They both reach for the lube though after that, it varies so each time is never the same. Toguro's fingered him slow before, slow enough so Yusuke begs and pleads for him to hammer his sweet spot and _shitsgoddamnbastard lemme come!_ , and also fast, bringing him to the edge before pulling out. This time he scissors in gradual, steady, widening circles before teasing deep inside and making Yusuke's sex stand proud.

"You," Toguro rumbles. It takes a moment for Yusuke to realize it's a question.

"Do it," he replies hoarsely.

"Are you -"

" _Fuck me_ ," he hisses. 

Toguro turns him onto the futon, belly up. They had a pillow once, Yusuke thinks. Maybe a few pillows. But they rotted - that's how much time has passed since they started doing this shitty thing. Toguro's dick is as huge and impossible as the first time Yusuke saw it and thought, _That's never gonna fit in there_. Of course it somehow does. By bending Yusuke in half. 

He sinks in without hesitation, without stopping. It's all at once too much and not enough. Yusuke screams and beats at Toguro's chest, sobbing for breath as it feels like his intestines are being compressed into his bladder into his stomach or whatever. Toguro holds his fists down - sparking, charged blue with reiki, he's so out of control, who's the enemy here? - and licks Yusuke's neck. He doesn't bite down - no marks, one of their rules. But Yusuke's still going to be very bruised by the time he goes home.

The first thrust always takes him by surprise at how complete it makes him feel, though that might be because Toguro is still swelling to full erection inside of him, the bastard. It lifts his feet off the bed, which is fine because they don't belong on the ground anyway when they're doing this. Yusuke shifts one leg incrementally up Toguro's side as Toguro gives into the urge to _take_. Just as he remembers he should probably hook one over Toguro's waist for balance, a big hand wrenches it over Toguro's shoulder and towards Yusuke's own chest. It's a testament to how gone Yusuke is that he only howls _more_ at the change.

The other leg joins the first at a very wide angle so Yusuke's spread open. His ass already feels sore as Toguro works between the cheeks. Muscle, lube, sweat, heavy organ infused and engorged with blood - Yusuke can't see it, the position's all wrong, but he can imagine it. How greedy he must look as he moans _Just like that, fuck, harder_ between _Bastard, you shit bastard, let go of me before I fuck you up_. Toguro exhales a little with each push. His face looks mildly amused, as if he's sitting in a cafe and just saw something funny out the window. All the while, Yusuke's desperately straining against his hold; his cock _needs_ to rub off on something right now.

Toguro doesn't let him go. 

Yusuke squirms in his hold and here come the bruises on his hands and arms and shoulders. And ass. Toguro gives up on his wrists and just lifts him by the hips. Yusuke hits his forehead on Toguro's chest, straddling a lap that's so broad it shouldn't exist.

"Ride me," Toguro still sounds like he always does. Yusuke thinks of rivers that hide treacherous rolling stones under the surface. Yusuke thinks of the airless moment before he comes untouched all over Toguro's chest.

Yusuke can't think of anything but the heat, the length, the impossibility turned reality of being fucked, of _liking_ it - of being a terrible, terrible human being. After all, he knows he loves Keiko. He loves her and the kids. She's just the expected safe routine and while it wraps him in walls and walls of warm fuzzy cotton, there's a part of him that always wants to burn it down.

(There's a part of him that wants a wall of muscle to cling to. Toguro is barely sweating as he jogs Yusuke up and down. The reflection of his own lust-twisted face is a contrast in the cool, dark sunglasses that still haven't changed.

Yusuke _never_ changes.)

He reaches for his own cock and Toguro smacks it away. "Please," he gasps. He's riding so hard he's not sure he's understood, his teeth are rattling so hard. "Let me. I need."

"No," Toguro says.

" _Please._ "

Fingers on his waist dig deeper, deeper. Nasty fading yellow-green to angry red to blue-purple plum. Yusuke scrabbles against Toguro's chest and shoulders. "Bastard," he curses, along with a lot of other things. "I can't - why do you always - I have to -"

"I am not forcing you to follow my commands. You are the one who wants this. You are the one who keeps coming back." 

_Ain't that the truth._ Yusuke knows why. He doesn't want to say it but there's something about the way he is, the way Toguro is. Small and big and both strong. But even when he burns clear blue soul-fire and his fists alight, there's another part he's given only to Toguro. To his enemy. To the nails digging bloody crescents and the hands tugging him this way and that. To Toguro's stupid ugly chiseled jaw that finally looks like he can't speak, he's too grim and somber. To the cock that's finally fully erect and hits every nerve in Yusuke's body with electric zaps and hot explosions up and down his spine. Even the times Yusuke bleeds from the physical abuse, he knows he'll come again.

Literally. "Now," Toguro grits, and Yusuke feels the word sing in his loins, his ribs, his shuddering inhale. Every atom in him drawing up with bated breath. He only waits long enough for the first splurt of hot essence hit deep within before he whimpers, jerking helplessly, a stringed toy frantically played with before being abruptly abandoned, all strings cut. Yusuke's convinced there's no body in the world that could take all of Toguro's come. Right now he can feel it slithering down his thigh.

He's so numb he can only place a hand in the middle Toguro's chest before it slips off. Toguro turns him over. Yusuke doesn't yell, doesn't shout, doesn't say anything as Toguro pushes in. His oversensitive channel protests but gives in the end, stinging and stretched beyond human limits.

The fourth time takes the longest. Neither of them are in a hurry. Yusuke gets over the intrusion as soon as he relaxes boneless, knees bent and ass in the air. Sometimes his fists clench when Toguro hits a tender spot - but then the fight goes out of him again when the jolt comes from elsewhere, plumbing the hot-sweet button leisurely. The rhythm is so constant sometimes he feels he could drop off to sleep. All of his injuries from the assignment and the first three orgasms make themselves known at this stage. He's kind of tired.

Toguro breathes in and out, a hot August gust against the back of his head. Knowing Yusuke isn't about to escape, his hands support rather than restrain. His knees knock Yusuke's far apart, bending at what has to be a painfully low angle at him to seat himself fully. 

This is always the strange part. After a while those big paws wander over Yusuke's shoulders, back, chest, ass, and then back up. But not for more than a moment. And not for any reason except for - the sick, diseased part of Yusuke's brain supplies the unsavory word - comfort. _Tenderness_ even, as he fucks a guy less than half his age. No matter how much Yusuke likes it.

After a while Yusuke's libido starts to perk up and take notice. Tightening around Toguro's cock, which is also starting to wake up from being just half interested. He starts to push back, fucking himself, feels Toguro get bigger again. His breath turns raspy and thick and he starts to sweat. The mattress is filthy and Yusuke swears he'll throw it out this time. He momentarily forgets he had hands because they're numb from pushing against the rock wall, or else his face would also take a beating.

(He doesn't want to think about if his old teacher knows. That he thought of this while she was still alive, or that he acted on it once she was dead.)

Fourth time could be the last, or it couldn't be. They've done five before. The rules are only that they do it until they're satisfied, as many times as it takes, as long as they can. It's just coincidence that they both like to come together, that they both have a limit around four or five, that they're both not overly fond of kissing. Actual kissing is for lovers, girlfriends, wives both real and potential. Real kissing is for when Yusuke is pretending to be a good man, not a truant.

Toguro brushes his ribs and hip on his way down to tug at Yusuke's dick. No breaks for foreplay today then; sometimes they take time to suck cock or rim or simply touch and touch until they're both hard. Certainly Toguro doesn't mind staying longer. Yusuke wouldn't either, thinking of the way Toguro can take his whole sex in his mouth, or how he chokes on Toguro's because he can't fit it all the way in. But it's the fourth time already. These things have to stop somewhere.

He wants to say that it's anti-climatic - after all, it's the fourth time in however many hours - but it's not. Pun not intended.

Afterwards there's a pool of stale water that's so cold Yusuke always claims it's going to freeze his man bits right off, but since there's no alternative that's where he cleans himself up. Sometimes Toguro helps, steadying him upright, handing him a rag from somewhere. Giving him the salve without asking. 

In the beginning he said, _I won't be back. There is no next time._ He even said it out loud to Toguro once. But no matter how it aches to limp back to Ningenkai, no matter how long it takes for the cuts and bruises, the sheer amount of evidence, to heal - Yusuke can't lie to himself. All he has to do is think of power, power, overwhelming power, pushing him down so he can't breathe, can't think and he's seriously dying of asphyxiation. Because there's no way a guy can die from sex feeling too good.

Now he only says, "Catch ya later." Toguro gives him a nod - his reiki a bit dimmed, a bit blurred and mulled - and says nothing. Abruptly Yusuke remembers the mattress and - well, who cares? It's filthy, sure, but so is he.

He's already thinking of the next call from Koenma, the next assignment, the next narrow brush with death. The next excuse to Keiko that he never needs because between _Got called sorry gotta go_ and the time he returns, Keiko's forgiven him. She looks over the new baby's head and gives the same little rueful shake of her head and says, "That's alright."

Like hell it is. Forget Toguro, Yusuke's the shit bastard in this. _An extra day won't hurt_ , is what he told himself the first time. _Just an extra day to blow off some steam with someone who can actually give me a challenge._ How that turned into whimpering and wriggling while his body is pawed this way and that, he doesn't remember.

He only thinks of his next day off.


	21. [RuroKen, Hiko/Kenshin] 2014.09.06:  the boy who knows too much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possibly AU. Hiko learned of power when he was young. But really, there is more to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiko's admittedly vague made-up backstory really just sounds like Kenshin except with more personal violence? He really sounds like he thinks too much, but I can't help it, I like to think of him thinking about Kenshin. I guess I tried to give the sense of ritual-ness that so much of Japan lives by even today, these expectations that are supposed to give you happiness if you lean on them. Not that it's really a free choice, but it exists all the same, the obvious option. Yet for what I've learned (and what the American side of me balks at), tradition is not always wrong. Sometimes it is very right. That discipline is really why I was attracted to Japan in the first place.

6\. the boy who knows too much  
[2014.09.22]

 

He was too big. Too hungry. _Starving_ , even, head too big for his limbs too big for his shoulders too big for his feet. He had understood by the time he was six that there was nothing in the hut to fill his stomach and that he could find food elsewhere. He didn't need to ask his mother; they barely spoke. He could take food quietly from the back corners of fields. He could steal food away from dogs by beating them with a stick.

He would swing it back and forth, like a rope hanging in the wind. But harsh as it bit the air, slash at a bit of brush. He remembered canine eyes that had no name, staring back at him. Searching for weakness, for which there was none. He was simply stronger, and that was why he raised the branch again and hit, and hit, and hit.

He had no words for the cracking sound against the beast's skull or the surprised sound it made as it fell. He had no description for the way it looked with its legs spread and its back arching towards the broken crate of fruit. Some of the persimmons were rotten; they set up such an overripe stink.

He didn't know why he fought the other dogs away, slinking around the corners. But it meant he buried the one he killed in the woods, stacked stones on it in a laughable parody of how he had found his stupid disciple the first time. He had done it with muteness in his heart because he could not read, could barely speak though his brain relentlessly tried to form the concepts, the connections - the motivation. Of which he had none.

He didn't remember when his mother died. Only that he had been living alone for a while when the roof came down. Then it was common sense to gather what he had and take great big strides into the woods. He was growing faster now, a ghost on the edge of civilization who looked away, muttering, stuttering, uncomfortable. He did not steal anymore, but it wasn't for them. It was simply because he did not like people.

He was wandering (not lost) and wondering (not stupid) when he was very much found. More stories, more lessons - he learned to read and write. In the few book he owned, he thought it was the only joy of mankind he shared for a long time. 

(Later he found he was wrong. _Later_ was a boy who was so helplessly ridden with scars they spilled out of his eyes. Odd, he called the feeling. He was never so understanding, or sympathetic, or charmed to act before.)

He was a boy who knew too much of hunger and poverty and in the final clash of blade on skin, the thundering silence of regret. _What is it like to choose and raise a boy with the knowledge they will kill you?_ It was a mystery when the result was the sigh of the jacket on his back and the chill of the mountain water on his hands to wash the gravesoil off. Then it was just him and a little fire with fish from the stream, the roar of the waterfall over his shoulders, the gasp of the practice blade through the air. He didn't dull over the years in this perfect life of his. The boy who knew too much as a child grew up to know exactly what he wanted: to bear the weight of something untangible but unrelentlessly bigger than him, standing at some high elevation than the rest, yet still with the simple things, the only things that mattered.

(He was wrong. Kenshin taught him the responsibility of little, bloodied hands. Kenshin was a small child that never grew big, who Hiko knew would be crushed under the weight of his task. He could see this at a first glance and yet. Yet there was a desire that Hiko always denied, promised in the resigned slump of the boy's lips.)

He was still there on his pedestal. That was why Kenshin was here right now, baring his skin for Hiko to see. He had no hakama on and the top half of the kimono was bunched around his waist. Hiko felt a keen sense of deja-vu as he smoothed salve over the shoulders and watched the vertebrae slowly flex, until Kenshin's chin was tucked against his own chest. _Like a child._ Kenshin frowning at the unfamiliar weight of a practice sword in his hand - that was the image he kept in his mind of Kenshin.

Except Hiko had not been a boy for many years not to know what unsaid expectations were laid upon them. Here, in safety, surrounded by his pots and bowls and the crackle of the kiln, Kenshin's shoulders were set. He was certain. He was waiting. He was waiting for the space between the lines of the old sayings Hiko had inherited thirteen generations, the vows of their sad little clan.

Waiting, and Hiko didn't realize until now, wasn't even aware himself. He only soothed Kenshin's bruises and cuts calmly with sure fingers, while inside his loins a fire dropped low, slowly, unbearable sunset in August. When those fingers became just touching, Hiko wasn't sure. But some breath jerked life into Kenshin, this life Hiko had saved and carved disinterestedly into his own image. If he was some god then Kenshin was his stupid sacrificial lamb, coming to bleat confusedly at his altar -

Even now the tides had shifted just as Hiko had known, it had just taken the rest of his body time to catch up with the reality. He wiped his hands on a rag. Kenshin straightened at the feel of Hiko's palms curling around, pushing his shoulders back. "No slouching," Hiko muttered. "You slouched like a beaten dog all through childhood, and now you inflict the same habit again on my eyes? Kick you out or tan your hide, always a toss-up."

"You always say that, shishou."

"There's a first time for everything." Hiko was a little mollified to hear it wasn't just him who was embarrassed. And what was he doing, anyway, saying suggestive things out loud? This was what other human company made him do: turn his regular routine upside down.

Not that it stopped the urge from brewing steadily, a rising storm. With one motion he pulled the smaller form of his disciple against him. Kenshin breathed out with impact or shock, Hiko couldn't tell. He was only starting to understand the unsaid premise they had avoided for ten years. He rolled it around and around. It made a - well, not a good shape, but a fitting shape in his mind. A right shape, the splay of his large hands, fingers barely touching, mapping the intersection of Kenshin's chest as Hiko mulled time, arousal, tatami versus futon, how long he had before Kenshin had to go, how bruised he was, how untrained they might both be. The nearest jar of cooking oil. How long it was before he had to turn the pieces baking in the kiln.

Kenshin wiped all of this away by pushing Hiko's hand down into the folds between his legs. In the same movement, pushed his hips back - and exhaled sharply again to feel Hiko against his tailbone. The vertabrae bent again, a willow in a storm Hiko only understood now with his whole body.

"Shishou," Kenshin said. It was not a question. It was the absolute clarity of years of history crammed between the lines of _loneliness_ and _tradition_. It was what all of Hiko's predecessors had done and what he had scorned, just like raising a child to be a killer or a sacrifice, and what was inviolable now. This burnished heat of the fire, this unknown pattern of fingers through red hair, this blemished skin peppered on the outside now too with marks that other humans had made. Hiko drank this whole: the taste of Kenshin, singing faintly of sweat and the nauseous gut-twist of medicine. Somehow, gradually, with less awkward fumbling than expected, they were doing something for one another. One last act of man and young.

(The boy who knows too much grows into a man who finds he knows nothing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? OOC?? Really this is the only way I can see the two of them getting it on.


	22. [KnB, GoM/Kagami, Kagami/Kuroko, Kagami/Himuro] 2014.09.25:  milestones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagami is very subtly gathered with other things, pushed alongside to an uncomfortable degree, unceremoniously dumped on his head, well-shaken, dizzied up, and then served on a bewildering lack of information with a side of floating, along-for-the-ride Himuro. It really is no wonder he's seeing rainbows. 
> 
> In other words, the Miracles are really vague about things but that's okay, because there's a reason it has to be Kagami. It's odd given how they started out, but he gets them. Even when he thinks he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha, I wanted to write a slightly less humorous GoM/Kagami, but still with some awkwardness and confused!Kagami, because I think he's an angel who has to be led by the hand to the goodies. But I think this is again too flowery (damn Glen Duncan anyway, I'm freaking addicted but I can't get his prose out of my head). Also, some parts may not make sense because I am crazy. I mean, you have to be if you went to Victoria's Secret and just HAD to buy the panties with the tiger face printed on the back.
> 
> Also, I'm so sorry, Akashi. I wish you got more digs in. But I am not smart enough to come up with them. Also Himuro, go hook up with Nijimura or something.

25\. milestones  
[2014.09.25]

If the Miracles were all stones then Kagami would be rolling them in his mind. Rolling, rolling, rolling around endlessly since the first day Kuroko stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with the cars flashing by and the taste of good hamburger in his mouth. Kuroko would be a black stone, Kagami decided later. Not just because of his name, because that would be pretty shallow. And there were times he still thought sea glass, or some sort of clear aquamarine might suit him better. But no, Kuroko was black because Kagami always stumbled in the darkness, not knowing where he was going or what he should be doing, but if he groped around long enough he would come across Kuroko's stone and be reassured there was something there. Someone. A person Kagami had connected to.

He didn't think of how that tiny, silvery filament had shimmered between them from the time they met. Just that before long, he was being tugged this way and that by someone who melted into the edge of his vision, just out of reach. He did his fair share of angry yanking in return. Results were varied: Kuroko said witty comebacks, chased him with a dog (that murderous beast, _why can't anyone else see that?_ ), and disappeared only to reappear unexpectedly. They could have kept rolling down the hill like that their entire lives, bumping into each other, sometimes pulling ahead or pulling back. Kagami would have been satisfied with that.

But of course that was not the case. And even if Kuroko also felt the status quo could remain in balance forever, the addition of five other Miracles definitely tipped the scale.

There was Aomine, who didn't take no for an answer, who pushed rough and tumble and expected to be pushed back. On the court, off the court - it took Kagami sooner than he thought to get used to that low, smooth voice that demanded all of his time. Without shame, without recourse. Kagami learned not to be a doormat, to throw him out of the kitchen when he was cooking, to dangle Kuroko in front of him as a distraction. Kuroko usually went along with the ruse, and for the longest time Kagami pretended to not feel anything since the first time he caught them making out on the couch. Kagami denied his stomach twisting, his fists clenching, his heart skipping a lonely, broken beat.

Then there was Kise, who was something sparkly and shiny to Aomine's light-blue center. On the court they moved in sync, like glowing mirrors of each other. Kagami knew from the first time he saw the two of them that they _knew_ each other, in that fathomless way. For all Aomine was a rough-cut weapon-edged piece of dark glass, glittering cold and daring in the sun, Kagami could still see his reflection in the surface, warped and confused. Kise reminded him of the same except hidden under a cloth to be bared when he chose.

The first time Kise sighed happily, patting his stomach across the kitchen table from Aomine and Kuroko, and kissed Kagami absently on the cheek, Kagami didn't think anything of it. But obviously Kise expected something, because his blade looked as if it had been stabbed into the dirt like a grave. Awkwardly Kagami patted his arm. He had seen enough, after all. He was old enough to be able to figure out when puzzle pieces matched, and there were too many reasons not to take eyes off of Aomine. He was stunning in a fight. He reeled people in carelessly, helplessly, and not even Kagami was resistant to that typhoon.

Kagami didn't want to be someone's consolation prize.

"I'll dry," Kuroko said, and stood to help clear the table. Kagami parceled out leftovers into tupperware but Kise said he didn't want any.

Midorima was harder to parse. If he had a soul, it flickered like an onibi, bright one moment and hidden the next. Or so it seemed to Kagami, who couldn't tell when or what kind of shape Midorima took, it seemed to change constantly. Frivolous things like the horoscopes. Frightening things like the soaring, devastating length of flight through the air before the hoop. Cold things like the mirror of his glasses as he pushed them up. The Miracles all did that. They all reflected Kagami in some way, all cracked pieces of a whole pane he was only beginning to comprehend. And yet he stood apart.

It took a while to realize all of it was Midorima. He tried but no stone exactly matched him; not the bobbing, floating stones, or lava black with a blood red center, or brushed amber with insects trapped inside. When he caught Kagami frowning at him he asked, "Is there something on my face?", in which Kagami answered, "No." 

But something must have been telling anyhow, because Midorima's next words were chosen carefully. "You are disheartened. And not feeling well."

Even Kagami wasn't blind as to see why. "Pretty sad that anybody can tell whether I'm sick or not by judging the amount I eat." 

"Among other things." Midorima stuck a Post-It with his name written on top of his tupperware. Midorima's taped fingers, always taped. Kagami thought of priceless black onyx nestled in white silk handkerchiefs. He had never understood the lure of a chunk of solid colored rock. What was so special about that?

"You could join them," Midorima suggested. He meant the three on the couch.

"I've seen the movie already."

"And that's why you're hiding in the kitchen."

"I've got homework. Why are you here, anyway? I know you always finish your homework before coming over, but still. It wouldn't hurt to relax and sit down with a brainless kids' film once in a while."

"I am not interested in films," Midorima said. He took one step closer. Kagami took one step back, because Midorima's glasses were cold and flashed white. Shuutoku's ace froze, and then deliberately loosened his shoulders, Kagami could tell. Unreadable, unfathomable. He had long thought of his own self as something burning and molten, but now the heat was smokey. Jarring, stinging his eyes.

He raised one taped hand and laid it against Kagami's cheek, a careful brush of cotton-warmth. "I am not going out there until you come with me," he added softly, and again the unknown panged in Kagami's stomach, a ten-ton anchor. He backed into the counter, the tile dug into his spine. Midorima's thumb ran over his lips.

"Are you scared?" he asked in the same neutral tone.

"What are you doing?" Kagami could barely recognize his own voice.

"I am trying to seduce you, but it seems like it is not going very well," Midorima admitted, before leaning in.

 _What?_ was the question that surfaced a split second before their lips touched. He was so bewildered. _You? Why? For what reason?_

When they broke he was no closer to the answers. "What do you want from me?" he croaked.

Finally he was close enough to see beyond the glasses. Midorima looked directly into him, so close his eyes twitched left to right, unable to decide which of Kagami's eyes to focus on. He got the feeling something had been handed to him, something he could fumble and drop, or set down, or hold to his chest. But he didn't know what it was. He didn't know what it was worth. He only knew it was a hand or some other personal thing; that was what Midorima said with his eyes.

"I don't want anything but what you choose to give me," Midorima replied. Kagami blinked. The moment stretched, elastic, no - candy taffy yawning across the impossibly long length of floor. Kagami thought again of shimmering thread and Kuroko - but Kuroko was snuggled between Aomine and Kise while both stole kisses from him, so Kagami couldn't think of anything else.

In his distraction a taped hand curved experimentally around Kagami's hip and he jolted away. "I have to go," he blurted, grabbed his coat and left. Tomorrow he would make nikujaga, he decided. By the time he got home with the materials, the movie was over and only Kuroko was on the couch, asleep, clutching an empty bowl of popcorn. The dog wagged its tail where it sat on Kuroko's legs. Kagami covered them both with a spare blanket.

Summer brought his brother home from abroad and he finally had an excuse to escape. He still hadn't decided Midorima's stone. But he knew his brother's personally. He had once seen a close-up of a leopard's eyes. _That must be what some people's eyes look like, the ones that change colors depending on light or emotions_ , he thought. There had been flecks of dark green and blue around the black pupil, like freckles caught in the middle of escape. _Tatsuya's just like that._

And like the great cat that seemed to stare straight into his soul, his brother took one look at him and asked, "Who died?"

"Huh?"

Himuro made propping his chin on the heel of his hand look like it belonged in the movie, when the main character stared smitten at the girl. Kagami suspected the ones on the next table over sighed and fanned themselves a little.

"Your Bakagami face." Himuro reached out and flicked him on the forehead. Kagami didn't mind the way he said the name, it was so fond. They had greeted each other with American-style hugs and the warmth from Himuro's body remained imprinted all over the insides of his arms and torso. "So, tell me. What happened?"

Kagami swished his fork through the pasta. "I think someone likes me."

"Moving up in the world."

Kagami resisted the urge to toss his napkin. Actually, wait, it was just his brother, which made him fair game. He balled up the napkin and threw it, but Himuro dodged. Damn.

"I think I like someone too," Kagami said after a while. "Not the same guy. Or maybe it is. Or maybe it isn't. Or maybe...it's more than one."

"You know I don't care." He knew. That was the thing about family; even after years they had no secrets. And for Himuro who had once been more - he didn't even need the second Kuroko took to spit out a five-point breakdown of how Kagami was being stupid. Time with Himuro rolled endlessly down the slope. There would never again be a time when he wasn't in Kagami's heart.

When he looked up, he saw the same feelings reflected back at him. "Are you mad?"

"Of course not." Soft and soothing. But sad. They could have been something. They could have been so big, it still made the ring close around Kagami's throat to think about it.

Himuro was close enough to know about the stones. Or at least understand how Kagami described people. "It does sound to me like you're a little in love with all of them," he said after Kagami was done talking. "You've been pretty pathetic in trying to keep them away so far."

Kagami grunted. "Give an inch and take a mile."

"Exactly." Himuro leaned back with a sigh. "So. Your little shadow and his old crew."

"Not so little. Sometimes he turns it up and he's got this - this big presence. In me. Him and the others. It's just - it's - I can't deny it any longer. I can't stop thinking about Midorima. About them. Do you think...?"

"Yes."

"And you think they're actually...?"

"Yes."

Kagami fumbled for another napkin. "Then..."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do, Taiga. You're old enough to decide for yourself whether you want to say yes or no."

"Why...?"

Himuro sighed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're very easy to love."

The napkin tore. "What the hell," he said, tears blinking furiously to the front. "If that's the case, why did you -"

"Because I was a greedy, stupid child who was so caught up in himself that I couldn't see straight," Himuro snapped. Blue-and-green flecks rose like a storm of butterflies. And then he relented. "But I'm not your little shadow. I'm not any of them. I'm not waiting for you to act."

 _You taught me so many things_ , Kagami scraped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Dammit all anyway. Himuro still had this effect on him, like Aomine. A personalized whirlpool that only Kagami constantly floundered and drowned in. _But you never taught me how to say 'yes' for the things I want._

As if he had read Kagami's thoughts - which was fairly possible - Himuro added, "For starters, you could stop using me as an excuse to sulk because you aren't getting any."

"Hey," Kagami said without rancor.

"Though I don't mind the extra hands to help carry bags."

"Hey," this time was actually annoyed. "You still shop like a girl. And take so freaking long in the mornings to do your hair, and I still can't see any different between it and three years ago."

"Shut up, Bakagami." But it was fond, so Kagami didn't mind. He didn't think about his name until a while later.

"Taiga," Akashi's voice called calmly from behind him. "Kindly hold the door." 

Kagami hastened to comply. A fire ruby and a monolith, he had never had any trouble placing these two. What were they doing in Tokyo? No, wait, it was summer. Didn't Akashi usually have servants to carry his bags or something? Or a chauffeur who drove around the block endlessly waiting for his young master to finish shopping? Instead he could barely see Murasakibara's eyes above the stack of boxes. And boxes? What kind of century were they in - or rather, what the hell had Akashi purchased that came in boxes?

At the sight of each other across the department store lobby, something went deceptively relaxed in both Himuro and Akashi. Kagami would have taken a step back to watch the show, except one was his brother and the other was a rival, so that meant he couldn't really move. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always wondered what a fight between a cobra and a great cat would look like.

"Himuro Tatsuya."

"You must be Akashi-kun. It's a pleasure to meet you. Taiga has told me so much about you."

Akashi didn't even take a split second to look at Kagami, and something in him wilted just a little, from the building pressure or from...something else. "What little he knows," he answered cryptically. At least to Kagami. Did they all RINE message each other or something? "I'm surprised you still have the gall to show your face around him. Atsushi mentioned something about a childish bet on your part."

Now the big bear behind the pile of boxes was on the receiving end of one of Himuro's swift, piercing looks. "It's been resolved, with no hard feelings on either part. How about you, I heard you tried to attack my brother with a pair of scissors the first time you met. Before he beat you into the ground." There was a distinct swell of pride in Himuro's voice that colored Kagami's cheeks.

"You mean barely scraped by. Don't get me wrong, Taiga, it was a win. But do not make the mistake of thinking Rakuzan will lose again."

This Kagami could respond to. "Bring it on." His fists clenched in anticipation.

Something flickered - shimmering thread looped around Kagami's body, being yanked in one direction - at the corner of Akashi's mouth, mirth or the minimalist effort at a smile. And then he turned back to his exchange with Himuro with a little more warmth.

"Aka-chin's having fun with Muro-chin," Murasakibara commented. 

"Aren't you weighed down with all of those?"

"Naw, they're okay. I've done this before, it's just a few things in a lot of tissue paper. Hey, maybe Kaga-chin can come with us next time, it'll be fun. Aka-chin always takes me to eat good food."

That didn't sound bad, except - well. Groping in the darkness for Kuroko's stone. Would he cut his hand on the sharp edge of something else? In the seamless black he couldn't even see how much he bled.

"Ah, uh, yeah. Sure," he fidgeted uncomfortably.

A hand settled on the back of his neck. Murasakibara had set the purchases down on a bench. Kagami expected the other hand to hold some sort of unhealthily cheese-flavored stick snack, but instead he found Murasakibara staring straight back at him.

"You have big hands," Kagami said, for lack of anything else to comment about.

"Uh-huh."

"They're like Kiyoshi's," Kagami added without thinking.

The hand closed a little on his skin, not demanding, not painful. Just firm. "That Kiyo guy has touched Kaga-chin like this? He's with glasses. Or some girl. Kuro-chin told me."

Oh great, they really did contact each other regularly. "He likes to ruffle people's hair."

Murasakibara did so to Kagami, who ducked ineffectually. "Like this?"

"Argh, stop!"

"Kuro-chin says Kaga-chin isn't used to having people taller than him in Japan."

 _'Kuro-chin' can keep his damn observations to himself_ , Kagami grumbled. "Cut it out," he said aloud. He dragged his fluffed hair back into what he hoped looked normal. Himuro was saying something about wanting to put a ring on it - Kagami belatedly registered the Deyonce reference with a snort - and Akashi, clearly not catching it, responded with something off the mark. "We could probably go over to that frozen yogurt place over there and they wouldn't even notice, as long as we took the bags with us."

"A date with Kaga-chin?" Murasakibara said blithely. "Okay. But only if we share a big bowl together." As something - ten-ton anchor - plummeted to the bottom of Kagami's stomach, he described further, "I like the sour flavors like the original or tart berries with sweet toppings like chocolate sauce and cheesecake crumble. Especially chocolate. A lot of chocolate."

It took too long for Kagami to gather the purchases and woodenly walk to the store. "Uh, we can get separate ones -"

"Naw. Kaga-chin can pick. I wanna see what Kaga-chin likes," Murasakibara said generously. And once Kagami had been shoved into the queue and spat back out with an awkward giant bowl of original flavor with chocolate chunks and cheesecake, the big bear also said, "Now I got an indirect kiss from Kaga-chin."

"What is this all about," Kagami gritted after a minute of biting down the immediate exclamations that came to mind. "You and everyone. Saying all this suggestive stuff."

"I thought Mido-chin made it clear."

 _Clear as onyx._ Kagami bit that back too. They wouldn't understand about the stones. He had been lucky to find anybody who did, much less someone like Himuro. He didn't doubt his brother's love, even when they were fighting, even when they were apart. Seeing him again only made him remember how deep it ran, and how it still suspended Kagami's heart midair with chains. Would anything ever feel like that again? That swooping, flying sensation. Kagami only imagined the dull, smoking steel of a cannonball digging an ugly trench in the ground.

A third and fourth spoon dug into the bowl. "We've reached a truce," Himuro supplied before Kagami asked the question. "One question, one answer. Fair trade."

"About what?" Kagami was still bewildered.

To compound that, the brush-bys increased. Contented with his stomach full of yakisoba, Kise pecked him again on the cheek and then dropped his cheek to Kagami's shoulder. Midorima didn't let him escape from homework, he and Kuroko (and Aomine too, though in his case it was just because he could) sat on him until his test's red marks turned to black marks and he dreamt of the junior high school kanji primer in between post-practice Hyuuga yelling at Kiyoshi to _Rest, damn you, or else all that surgery will be for nothing!_ and Hyuuga and Kiyoshi making out in the locker room. Thankfully that day he already had his bag; he only had to slip on his headphones and park himself outside the door.

Koganei came up to him. "Oh, you're doing it? I can take over if you like."

"Naw. Go home early, sempai."

It took him a half hour wondering just how often they did this that the other third-years took turns playing door guard and if it was Hyuuga or Kiyoshi that carried lube all the time (he was betting Hyuuga - no, wait, Kiyoshi) before he realized he wasn't alone. Kuroko wasn't listening to his own music player, but he was preoccupied with a book. Somehow without Kagami noticing he sat close enough for their elbows to touch.

"There's not enough light here for you to read," Kagami frowned.

Kuroko looked up calmly. "There isn't?" he questioned back cryptically.

The door behind them opened and Kagami barely caught himself from tumbling backwards. "Oh, it's you two. When'd you get put on rotation?" Neither of the third-years looked like they had been doing some heavy duty necking a minute ago, except by the glow of Hyuuga's ears. 

"Just this once. I thought I might learn something," Kuroko said. Kagami was glad to see it wasn't just him who was confused; after a minute Hyuuga gave up with a huff. Kiyoshi just gave Kuroko a very serious glance (though all of them had stopped expecting serious things to come out of his mouth with that expression).

"Kuroko-kun...the Internet is a better resource for that."

"I prefer to observe in real time. Hands-on."

 _Wow, like that isn't suggestive_ , Kagami blushed. "C'mon, let's go home," he muttered. That shining thread was pulling so hard it hurt. But all it reminded Kagami of was the other lesson from the bet. _It's always the ones closest to us._

"Wait, Kagami-kun," Kuroko protested. His bag was still somewhere. "Please wait for me."

He didn't know why. A part of him really didn't want to. Or rather, was afraid to. But he waited anyway.

"Do you believe in fate?" Kuroko asked on the way home.

"Do you believe in rocks?" Kagami shot back.

Kuroko still took a second. "Yes," he said at last. "I do. Is that a metaphor for something, Kagami-kun? And if it is, then for what?"

 _For my whole fucking life_ , Kagami thought miserably. It was a shifting tectonic collision. A sport of global warming, tumbling frozen cliffsides into the sea. An avalanche with no warning that had tumbled on top of his head, and now he was so buried he had lost hope of getting out. He was probably doomed to wander a dark maze for the rest of his life, starve, and then spend the rest of his paltry existence as a heap of white bone.

 _And this is why I need to stop Alex's cheap romances._ Those books were easy and steamy. And English. In comparison, real life was freaking hard. He would rather wear a constraining corset and run away from an angry pirate.

"Kagami-kun?"

"Do you mean it," he said finally. "Because if you're just jerking my chain, back off. I expected better of you."

A cool hand closed around his wrist. "Of course not, Kagami-kun," Kuroko said quickly. The name rolled so smoothly off his tongue. "I mean it. We mean it. And we're sorry for pushing. But if you need more time think, we can wait. We will always be here, waiting for you. We love you, Kagami-kun. And we hope you love us back."

_Let me_ , Kagami said in his mind. _Let me in. Let me decide. Let me touch you like I want to._

Their kiss was a simple thing that lasted five seconds and didn't change anything, didn't make the world stop, didn't make the storm of emotions go away. But it did settle something. It settled Kagami's resolve to fight for another thing Kuroko wanted. After all, Kuroko had never led him wrong. He had always let Kagami reach out and hold, and gain strength from the real, hard proof he wasn't alone. 

And now there might be others. Though he might learn the hard way what parts were pointed, what edges could cut. Kagami couldn't shake the idea he was going to get hurt. But if it turned out to be a lie - well, then he would be pleasantly surprised. 

"What do you mean by rocks?" Kuroko asked. 

"Get Kise to stop ninja-kissing me first. And Aomine to lose some freaking weight before he sits on me again." 

"But he does look forward to that so, Kagami-kun." 

Kagami opened his mouth to reply, ran the words back over in his mind, and then blushed. 

Sometime on the way home their hands brushed. Kuroko took his without hesitation. His hand was cool. His hair smelled like Kagami's shampoo because he forgot his at home. The cars passing by reminded Kagami it was fitting, because they were back the first place they started. 

Then he had a new thought. _What happen when two stones rub so hard they combine?_ He didn't know. According to Kiyoshi, he could probably look it up on the Internet. Kagami couldn't wait to find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? I still think it's got too much nature imagery. There's a few lines in here from furiosity's fics, especially [Second Chances](http://archiveofourown.org/series/27574), which I've read a bazillion times.


	23. [RuroKen, Shishio/Kenshin] 2014.09.30: And then he retired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set Bakumatsu Era, after Kenshin kills Tomoe's betrothed but before he meets Tomoe. Possibly not canon-compliant. Kenshin is coming home from a night's work to find someone kind of stalking him. It turns out to be kind of a big deal.
> 
> (AKA, they say you never forget your first and Kenshin probably never did, he just didn't recognize him later under all those bandages.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I was telling kuroiyousei, "Did you ever think that part in the final fight between Shishio and Kenshin when Shishio bites Kenshin is kind of gay?" And then I thought, _I like wanderer!Kenshin too much to destroy his life but he was kind of a frigid bastard back in the Bakumatsu. I could mess him up a little._ Aaaand thus, shameless porn was born (hey that rhymes!).
> 
> (Can someone please tell me if this is canon compliant or not? I seriously cannot remember if there was any period of time between Tomoe's husband dying and Kenshin meeting Tomoe.)

30\. And then he retired  
[2014.09.30]

 

There was no sun or light, no sliver of moon to be seen behind the clouds. Yet still Kenshin turned to face the black as the ghost of skin brushed against his face. A scent tickled his nose, sweat and cotton cord and leathers. He hadn't realized anyone else was there. He pressed soundlessly further against the wall, leaving no wet footprints from the puddles he had been dodging all along the street. It had been an unseasonably wet autumn.

But the presence on the other end didn't aggressively chase him, nor give way completely to Kenshin's so-called 'godspeed'. It just trailed him, a masculine thing that took shape in Kenshin's mind like bright-fire- _yang_. Less carefully than Kenshin through the soggy road, dark-clad, dark-haired - a million other men in the Peaceful Capitol wore their hair the same way in a knot, used armor peeking from the ends of their sleeves, dirt dragging down the ends of their hakama. He had well worn sandals, much like Kenshin, and a greedy, hedonistic love of pursuit. It made Kenshin leap halfway across town and stop three streets away from the safehouse and Katsura.

It was either that, or turn and cut the man down. Though his distinctive hair and his features were unmistakable to anyone who got a good look, Kenshin tucked himself into the shadows of an alley to wait. A second later the man stopped at the edge of the bridge, just beyond the light of one lone lantern left to illuminate the door of the inn Kenshin leaned against.

"Battousai?" the stranger called in an even, if quiet, voice. Kenshin fingered the brace of his sword. The metallic sound was like a cannon in the mutter of the wee hours.

One sandaled foot stepped into the light, then another. He was older than Kenshin but not by much; he had the same hollowed look upon him. Upon closer inspection, yesterday's evening rains wouldn't be so dark. Viscous liquid was splashed all across his front. 

Not that Kenshin looked much better. The man huffed a low chuckle in lieu of a daylight whistle as Kenshin slid carefully out of the shadows. "Got you good too, huh." There was something unmistakably feral about him. "Out for a midnight stroll, just like me. They're probably already celebrating back at Kanzaki's, with the two of us on the job."

Only now did Kenshin's hand slip away from his scabbard to tuck themselves into his sleeves. It was just cold enough to do so. Another week and the pre-winter snap would be here; for now there was not yet steam when bodies were split open like pomegranates to reveal their shining insides.

Three streets wasn't too far to walk with this man. "You are the other manslayer then, I suppose?"

There was a beat too long, a silence that stretched, Kenshin cursed, cursed his tiredness and now of all times to run his naive mouth...but then the man laughed with playful, if equally exhausted confusion, "There's another one?"

"Nevermind," Kenshin answered quickly. "Let's move. I have to rinse myself off before I see Iizuka-san, and I would prefer he wasn't drunk enough yet to forget I reported already in the morning."

They both froze at the same time in the bulk of a willow. Then wordlessly slip-scattered over the side of the stone wall onto the little ledge, barely wide enough to stand on let alone run with any kind of speed, where the river boats were moored to. Someone said something from above that sounded like _Thought they were here_ and _Noises not too far_.

Just as Kenshin cursed his light hair, something settled over his head. The stranger had a dark scarf he had draped over them both. It smelled of woodsmoke, steel, and the coppery tang of blood, all scents that Kenshin knew well, and that served to relax him now. They crouched motionlessly, ears straining - 

The stranger reached out to brush Kenshin's cheek. Sweat and leather. He had dark predator eyes that seemed intent to swallow Kenshin's soul whole in one gulp. Then he lifted his hand away to show: the scar was bleeding again.

 _There's nothing here, come on_ , said the voices from above.

Still watching Kenshin, the stranger brought his hand to his face. His nostrils flared a little at the scent of blood, and then he put them in his mouth. He sucked them until they were clean.

Something hot and cold dripped down Kenshin's spine and face - leftover adrenaline and thrill that carried over, creeping between his legs. Or physically, some blood and broken body matter, congealed, stiffening his clothes. It should have been disgusting, Kenshin should have recoiled from the abnormality, but it was futile. The memory of the kills, last wheezes rattling free from the container and fear teetering on the knife-edge of a millisecond's reaction, and this stranger's pull drew him firmly to its sickening embrace.

Leathers gripped his shoulder bruisingly hard, then slid firmly down to his elbow. "Let's go," the stranger echoed. They went.

Their comrades were indeed already drinking in the back of the house. The guards at the front window said no one had passed that night except for them - none of the Shinsengumi or Mimawarigumi. Kenshin, that alien foxfire flitting in his veins undoused, threw a bucket of water over his head before telling Iizuka what he wanted to hear. And then, with every step pounding in his head like progressively louder beats of the taiko drum, he climbed the stairs to his room.

At first it seemed nothing was out of place. No candle was lit, the blinds were firmly shut. Only the bedding had been changed and laid out, as the maids did every night. No unknown hands had touched them. And yet Kenshin looked upon them as if he had never seen them before.

The stranger was here. He melted out of the shadows, already changed out of his work clothes. His knot was undone, dark hair falling about his shoulders. His eyes glittered in the crack left open in the door when Kenshin had frozen, feeling the unknown aura menacing him from close quarters, unsure whether to reach for his sword or not. No matter how normally the door guard had greeted both of them, his mind screamed _untrustworthy_ at the lilt of the other man's shoulders, waist, legs, hands. A vague wave in the air, intangible, undeniable to Kenshin's instincts.

But it had to be ludicrous to want to cut a man down, a man who had purposefully changed out of his bloodstained clothes to welcome Kenshin back. He was now sheathed in a plain sleeping kimono. Kenshin could see the press of muscle against the inside of the fabric. At that the heat flared and spread, just at the promise of the four hours until daylight. Kenshin never slept the night after kills anyway; he always waited for the sun. And now he actually had something to do in that time.

"I heard you never bed any of the women, though you're past fifteen." He had a smooth voice - the kind of silk that hid blades.

"I wasn't interested in them."

"And you're interested in me?"

"I don't know. I've never done this before either."

The stranger stepped closer, now far within the reach of Kenshin's sword. One cut and his belly would give way. One slice and the blood would spray from his throat. One hit and he would - something about this man was dangerous, Kenshin realized. Something about this man made his breath ragged and long, the heat in his gaze alighting the lava in Kenshin's veins. This man wanted to possess him absolutely, wanted to hold Kenshin down, pull him apart. This man made Kenshin want to slash just to escape his killing aura, or sink to his needs to serve.

Kenshin was strong enough to do neither. Somehow his feet rustled closer over the tatami so the man's face moved towards him, like a ripple in the water, into the fierce, vain mockery of a smile.

His nose flared again - Kenshin wondered what he smelled. Probably what the whole Peaceful Capitol smelled like. _Death._

"I think we'll figure it out," the man drawled. Kenshin thought of wolves, claws, the slippery gleam of intestines, the same sweet red as strawberries. The stranger's bared teeth were white in the dark. "May I?"

He reached for Kenshin's sash once he had set his sword down opposite the other at the head of the bed, tugging it loose to let the ties slip carelessly. The crack in the door wasn't yet shut, so Kenshin could see the slow reveal of his own body, the V that grew slowly to a swathing river of pale skin. The man knelt. He bared his teeth again. He pinched Kenshin's left thigh between his jaws, slowly tighter and tighter until it hurt, a white-hot whirlpool of heat all of the blood in his head rushed to.

The stranger let go, reaching for the door. "You look good like that," he said before he shut it.

Kenshin had no idea what he looked like, and said so. "Like you're finally learning the purpose of hunger. Which is to feed it," the stranger clarified.

Something about that statement struck Kenshin as wrong, and he held a hand to stop the other man. "That doesn't mean simply to take."

"Why not?" The dimple of his cheek was pressed against his skin. It was a scornful expression. "The strong always get what they want. That's the point of being strong - being stronger than any number of the weak."

"The weak are not there to serve the strong."

"Like you're one to talk, Ishin's finest killer. You can only claim that innocent talk about helping others because you're the best."

That also struck Kenshin oddly. "You don't sound content with that."

The man paused. His hands were gripping Kenshin's hipbones - the centermost powerful pivot that Kenshin used. The thrum of that power in someone else's grasp made his fists flex.

"If you're asking me if I like others above me, then no. See, I don't like the possibility of someone else being able to knock me down. But for you I can make an exception, given who and what you are. Sharing your body with me."

"I don't know what you mean." There was something hidden in that message.

The man hmph'd in lieu of laughter. "You will," he promised, full of dark amusement.

Then he set his mouth to Kenshin's sex, drawing it into a seductive black suction. Helplessly Kenshin scrabbled for the man's shoulders, tearing the fabric away - there were scars imprinted on the skin, like those of whips or switches or knives, broad enough to hurt, old enough to be from childhood. Thought faded in and out, mirage-like as water in the desert-dry cavern of his mouth as fingers pinched and squeezed, drawing his legs apart, cupping his buttocks. His previous assessment was correct - the man sucked with noisy, dirty delight, _possessive_ as if Kenshin's was his to claim and have. Almost violent, but the hard grind of teeth wasn't enough to convince Kenshin to stop thrusting. It was too much and too good.

He panted wildly, straining, clawing. He must have looked as wild as the man who brought him so roughly to the peak, spilling over - _ohhh_ , release flooded through him with heart-clenching, sighing relief. He didn't know if the man swallowed or spat or aimed it elsewhere - he didn't even know when he collapsed and hit the bed, only that the futon was there, the edge biting into his chest as the stranger pushed the floppy back of his kimono away and counter-panted a rhythm into his neck.

An oiled finger dug in ruthlessly, then another. They scissored him so his knees, feet, legs twitched to close out the intrusion ("Don't do that, it'll just hurt more") before he let it be. Then another threatened to enter and he had recovered enough from his bonelessness to kick out with one heel. It struck the stranger in the ribs.

Immediately a hand crushed his face into the futon. "Don't give me that shit. I did something for you," the stranger rasped. Kenshin realized belatedly that the hot, foreign bar of heat against his tailbone was the man's cock. "Now you just sit still and let me have what you owe me."

"I didn't ask for -" he managed to get out before his teeth clenched together. He couldn't speak, he was being smothered by the hand pushing the back of his neck down with suffocating force. Kenshin couldn't take it. He twisted again, kicking out. The man avoided with a curse, fingers flying free, but then his whole weight dropped on top of Kenshin, and he felt the rough feel of bones - knuckles? - against his back, and he couldn't see what was happening, couldn't reach for his sword -

The man pulled his head back by the hair, hissing, "Don't you dare, Battousai. Not when you're a fucking hypocrite. You think you're saving lives. But all you're doing is destroying them."

 _A girl's wail sounded in his mind._ He had been there, oh, he had been there. That pain rang brittle and bitter than the taste of blood in his mouth now. It had to be the scar, the scar that wouldn't keep weeping. That and the man that fumbled his cock, jerking himself frantically to hardness. Kenshin thought of fighting - but what for? Eyes followed him in the dark, the dead and the fearful living. He had heard his own comrades ask sometimes if he felt anything for the sheer number he had cut down, because no one could kill so many and not turn into a simple, bloodthirsty demon.

 _I am human_ , he wanted to cry. But he couldn't speak. His ears clamored as if a hundred ghosts had taken up arms again and were bashing them together.

"Yessss," the man groaned low. Something was shoved under Kenshin's stomach to prop him at an angle. "Yes, this is - prepare yourself, Battousai." It was the same phrase everyone used before they charged, their eyes so wide the whites around them showed like uncooked eggs. And just about as formlessly useless as Kenshin hacked them down.

Pain rocketed through him, stabbing uncleanly through, a sword wreathed in Kenshin's oversensitized flesh. He panicked, throwing himself forward, breath coming out of him in a huff. Hands pushed down on his shoulders as the stranger rode him - stranger, stranger, what was his name, was he a _traitor_ , oh no, _please_ \- rough and searing orange fire, fireworks behind Kenshin's eyelids. He sobbed for an inhale, found it, hoarded it in his lungs but it dissipated too fast with the pound of the man's thrusts. He was vaguely aware he was still being choked, of the hand closed around his neck. He was aware that no matter how many he had killed, this was this and that was that, and it wasn't as if he deserved one because of the other.

But in the face of this man, rational common sense had also flown out the window. The new tenets of Kenshin's universe only stayed put as long as the next wheeze, the next second he could draw breath. Teeth slashed at his back, gnawing; he fought for leverage and got to his elbows, but no more. The change in angle was immediate, swift, and punishing - the man laughed as Kenshin gasped for the first time, bucking into the touch, all thoughts of his sword and retribution for liberties taken flying out of his mind.

The red changed shape and intensity, changed to the top of the man's head, the only thing Kenshin could see in the clumsy darkness. He scooted forward into the man's lap and sank down once more. This time the breach filled him with a savage carelessness and he choked in a different way to feel the man bottom out, tip drooling, trickling down inside. This must be what it felt like to completely belong to another man.

"Come now, Battousai." That smooth voice urged him on, mimicking propriety and manners. "You've been through so much at your young age. Certainly it's time now to properly become an adult."

Kenshin didn't feel like an adult. He didn't really feel human at all. If there was anything animating him, it was the curse in his blood - from families he had torn apart, from young people to whom the future was entrusted, and who Kenshin mowed down, untouched except for his new scar. It bubbled white hot against his cheek now. The man's mouth found it, sucked - sucked it like his own fingers, sucked it as if he was trying to draw Kenshin's essence into him like he had on Kenshin's cock.

"C'mon," he said, harshly. "Battousai, let me - you're supposed to be the best and you -" The man came like waves against cliffs, rocking upward into Kenshin's body. "You're on top of me, just -" The rest was a sucked hiss of victory as he pulsed with decreasing frentic energy but not ambition to dominate, his hands sitting squarely on Kenshin's hips. Even when it whited out with pain and Kenshin started to scream thinly, he didn't stop.

"Your name," Kenshin whispered when they both gave the sleep kimonos up for a loss and lay down next to each other. The dark had retreated enough so the first faint rays of blue slitted through the blinds. 

It was in that early light that Kenshin noted the stranger had a fairly well-shaped face and features, dark hair a ribbon of black winding behind him, with supple limbs except for the marks on his back. Whipmarks, he thought at first, but they weren't. They were strangely gouged in. Chains, maybe.

He had moved in perfect sync with Kenshin all night when he had finally reached his sword, gasping, clinging to it as he was taken a second time and a third, and the man brought him to the brink on both before shoving him pitilessly over the edge, abandoning him to the coldly impersonal roughness of being taken thoroughly by a stranger. Yet there was something in the moment they stared at each other. Now that the tempest of desire had calmed somewhat, they had a mutual reckoning of sins.

He had to be a good fighter, Kenshin thought. Perhaps a ruthless one. For all their lack of physical distance, his eyes showed no mercy, not even for Kenshin, his own kind.

The man blinked, a curiously giving gesture. A child's play at deception. They both knew what came next would be a lie - it only remained to see if it was an acceptable one or not. 

"Shin."

"As in 'heart'?" Kenshin asked, thinking of the only character to survive his master's gutting of his first name.

"As in 'truth'. Or 'trust'. Or 'god', if you think I'm such." His mocking smile was dimmed somewhat in daylight - or maybe it was just the viscous liquid quality of their bodies at the moment, lax with overexertion.

" 'Truth'," Kenshin echoed. The man's eyes flashed; he had guessed correctly. Right now, energy expended in bed, lazing about, he seemed no more wild beast than a kettle or a spoon. A generous bow of lips, a long smattering of lashes, ears sticking a little out from the sides of his head, thin eyebrows, a widow's peak. But then he looked at those eyes. Still untamed, under the thinnest veneer of obedience. Always ready to break free, break everything around in a hateful second.

 _A dangerous man_ , he assessed again. _One that not only wants to kill, but invites me to do so too. And I am afraid. Because I want to. Because of this man._

 _Who are you_ , he couldn't ask. Instead, he held still as Shin reached out, stroked his cheek almost tenderly, coming away with blood. His tongue was red with it as he languished licks, letting the heat tremble up the length of Kenshin's body, a torturous, agonizing promise - his teeth were also red when he bared them slowly in a smile.

But it was not for Kenshin. _No_ , he thought with certainty. _For him, even in something so personal, I am only the Battousai._

"We won't see each other again," Kenshin said instead.

"Why not?"

"Iizuka-san says my face is becoming too well known."

"Ah, well. Then happy retirement, and maybe now I can be named the strongest."

Kenshin's gut twisted. "It isn't as wonderful a thing as you think."

"I think the view at the top is _exactly_ what I like to see," Shin chuckled. It was probably the truth. The madness in his eyes began to bubble again, mouth turning into a rictus grin, and though somewhere in the cursing, fumbling dark they had found equilibrium, a common understanding, and the shared limits of men -

That smile was not for him. The warmth of Shin's limbs was not for him. He was far away from this bed, and for that, along with the budding, weaving, threading beads of lust running through Kenshin's veins, underneath the youthful tangle of physical discovery, there also unfurled a tendril of fear for the future of them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOC??? Shishio is so freaking hard to write.


	24. [RuroKen, Saitou, Megumi gen] 2014.10.12:  a soft woman/is simply a wolf/caught in meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right after Jinchuu. Megumi treats Saitou's wounds. Saitou learns to treat her and her protective natures with respect.
> 
> (implied Megumi-->Kenshin, but that's canon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm not particularly sure if the timing on this works out or not. Either way, I wanted to write something gen and Megumi because I really love her after Misao. Saitou just happens to be a rational, straightforward person to reflect from, so. This thing was born.
> 
> I do feel Saitou's speech is a bit stilted and 'older', but that's probably just me picturing how age changes how a person speaks in Japan. Also, the Megumi in my mind is really pretty just like Aoi Yu, hence all the flattery on how she looks.

12\. a soft woman/is simply a wolf/caught in meditation  
[2014.10.14]

 

He rarely sees the need to stay still when there is so much more he could be doing. No matter if he's injured. There is so much more evil in the world. He did not climb to this position to sit on his laurels and collect an empty salary. Not even a kowtow from the Emperor himself can keep Saitou from doing what he likes, investigating what he chooses.

The doctor however, is a force all her own. And he has more reason than usual to think on this day. The Battousai's letter...even before he had read the contents he had registered the touch of the brush on paper, the calm and firm hand that had written them. Saitou's upbringing had beaten the rules of calligraphy into his body since he was young, and in every stroke he witnessed the Battousai's unwavering sense of personal justice. It does not match completely with Saitou's own, but he can respect the force of will nonetheless.

"This is my last visit here," the doctor tells him as she packs up. She has been similarly firm and methodical all through the treatment of his wounds. She gives unsolicited advice, true - but it is told bluntly and directly with no frills on what problems he should watch out for in the future given the scars he already has.

"You are leaving?" She looks up at the hint of surprise in Saitou's voice. "I thought you were in love with him."

She straightens, a bit hunted. It is a common enough occurrence, given the way the Wolf of Mibu stalks. But then he's in for a bit of a shock, because her expression morphs and - _ah_. There was always a reason he felt soft women were just wolves in meditation.

"I am," she says silkily. He looks at her now and can only see now the potential to maim and kill and tear people apart just as easily as a Gatotsu to the heart. Her dark hair slides sensually over one shoulder; her eyes shutter coquettishly, gleaming under the dark wing of lashes; her lips, carefully made up, feel like they will only speak the damning dance of circling hawks before the swoop. She stands at a quarter-turn stance, medical box in hand, innocuous and humble on the street, yet filling up Saitou's entranceway with hidden intent.

"Do you mean to do something to Ken-san?" she inquires politely. "If I go away. I can still stay, you know. I've promised to look after any hurts he might get - and in the end, home is people, not a place. I'm sure you understand, Saitou-san, that there are many kinds of strength, and I am versed in some that you do not have."

He is aware. He inclines his head, thinks for a moment. "Battousai sent me a letter of challenge today. I intend to refuse."

And the she-wolf slinks back into the mouth of the cave, though its eyes still look out at him from the perfect curve of dimpled cheeks. "And here I thought you had unfinished business with each other. I suppose I must reconsider my impression of stiff-necked, righteous bastards." The curse falls playfully from her lips like a dark jewel. "If your old hate is so easily misplaced. I wasn't looking forward to more duels to the death. What changed your mind, officer?"

"Him." His throat itches for a cigarette, but he cannot move. He struggles even to form coherent words under her level, knowing gaze. "He is not what I thought. He turned out to be as soft as he claims. Or, perhaps I've just spent too much time watching."

"Are you sure you're not the one in love?" Humorless laughter tinkles into the sun-shaded afternoon.

"Don't joke, she-fox," he mutters, borrowing the brash boy's nickname. "You're not very good at it."

She hefts her medicine box one last time. "I would not begrudge him his peace and happiness any more than for you. It is the men of times past that have forged what we have now. It isn't perfect." The lashes lift, and suddenly her smile is sweet and genuine. The sun silhouettes her from the back. She really is very classically beautiful. "But I'm sure you already know that, Saitou-san."

"I could have continued to see the precinct doctor," Saitou points out.

"And yet I didn't let you. I insisted." _And it was not because I like you. It is because I don't know you, and the unknowing is a threat._

Saitou dislikes being cornered, manipulated, or considered last. He takes another mental tally of the Battousai's problems and deduces yes, he is one she has not taken the measure of yet within her sphere of influence. Her thanking him was not a lie; her wanting to treat him was not a lie; her wanting to keep an eye out for him was not a lie. Her sussing out his motives was not a lie. She simply stirred the motives together in one move. A logical, clear-headed woman that rippled like a dropped stone in the pool of Saitou's own aesthetics - dangerously armed in her own way. He is reminded once more that Battousai's sword, however childish and ludicruous, is still made from the same kind of mold and same kind of steel as Saitou's own.

He says what he never thought he would say. "I will not look out for him, because he can take care of himself. But I will not harm him or his...associates unless they encroach squarely into the realm of wrongdoing."

"That is all I can ask for, officer." She is sincere.

They banter a little more over medicines and prices; she pockets money, he puts the sleeves of powder away into his own first aid box. Then he sees her to the door, half because he is grudgingly respectful, half because she reminds him life revolves and changes before his eyes. His idea of the weak, blind Battousai has swelled in numbers to include her; but soon it will not be so.

"You are more gentlemanly than you appear with that scowl," she announces at the gate. "And I hope I won't see you again."

He doesn't give into the urge to part with some wise remark in return, only fishes cigarette and match out of his coat since he's already outside. "Safe travels, doctor."

He watches her sway, luggage in hand, long hair swishing in rhythm against the eye-catching purple overtunic, seamlessly elegant as she dips a bow to an old man passing by - and shakes off the last bit of thoughtfulness that has been haranguing him all day. He's been stagnant long enough. Now that he has the doctor's blessing, it's time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOC??? I'm afraid to ask.


	25. [KnB, GoM/Kagami] 2014.10.03:  that's not my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future fic, set in 'if' verse. Kagami is injured during a fire; he and the rest of his life partners cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I have no idea if this makes sense. I really meant for it to be chaste and non-smexy but Aomine wouldn't let me go without a little groping. Also, there are lots of made-up details in this, if all of them were as they are described in 'if' verse, including Akashi and Kagami's relationship. I'll leave it up to everyone else what happens next with those two though.
> 
> Admittedly I kind of wrote this while mellow and sunny-afternoon-y, so I think that's how it turned out.

3\. that's not my name  
[2014.10.15]

 

The first thing Kagami notices is the drab color of the ceiling and the beep of the machine next to him. He feels vague and floaty like he is drifting a meter off the ground. His head is fuzzy, his mouth is cottony and dry, and he can't move his toes. Closer inspection of the ceiling shows a faint waterstain that, if it had been raining, would drip directly onto his head.

And then he notices his hand is being squeezed slowly tighter. He moves his eyes to the left and wonders why he hadn't seen the giant there until now. But maybe it is because the giant hadn't been moving, or because the giant had picked up some tricks from his old disappearing teammate. Either way, Murasakibara blinks once before looming down, down towards Kagami's face, so close to his breathing mask that his own breath steams against the plastic, the opposite side of Kagami's.

"Kaga-chin." He hears the words from far, far away. "Kaga-chin can't say anything right now, so. Squeeze your hand, Kaga-chin."

Kagami tries to do as he's told. He can feel his eyes blinking, his breath coming in and out. He can feel the shudders of wheels as someone trundles a stretcher down the hall. This isn't the first time he's been here. It's just a different room with different decorations, but this is definitely Midorima's hospital. The smell of sheets washed multiple times and faintly sour chemicals is something that someone else might find disturbing. But Kagami only realizes, right now, that somehow this is another place that is home-other-than-home.

He can feel the sheets, prickly hot and scratchy with sweat. He can even feel the way Murasakibara has the hand with the IV sticking out of it in both of his, and his fingers are long and perfect and big, just the way Kagami likes. The way his shoulders wing out from his neck, the pad of his thumb stroking Kagami's palm ticklishly this way and that. A mirage overlaps and Kagami blinks because Murasakibara is suddenly a few centimeters shorter, hair only a little past his shoulders with that white-and-purple uniform. Then the illusion puffs away and once again Murasakibara smells of custard-cream and everything heady and sweet.

"Please," Murasakibara utters softly.

"If you can hear me, please respond. Squeeze my hand."

"Kaga-chin..."

The world swirls, dizzy with color and scent and sensation both good and bad. He hates IVs that slide under the skin, into his veins. They always feel like steely sin to him. His body is putty-dough, generously spread with a butter knife. He registers it's not the hospital sheets that are scratchy, it's bandages wrapped around and around his body. In fact, there's one over on eye, holding gauze in place; how strange he didn't notice before. 

The insistent beep of the heart monitor isn't enough to keep the black from closing in over his head again.

When he wakes the night light is on and the whole place is eerily green, like staring through night vision binoculars. He isn't sure what woke him until the darkness shifts to form two square lenses, two windows of reflective light.

The lamp on the nightstand goes on. Midorima has replaced Murasakibara, his face hovers over a clipboard and pen set next to Kagami's pillow. "How are you feeling, Kagami. Squeeze once if you are feeling pain, twice if you are not."

Kagami tries but he can't. His heart rate starts to go up, he can hear the machine kicking to life behind him. Beating, beating faster, rabbit-speed, his eyes flicker left and right and he tries his shoulders and toes and elbows and back and knees and every joint of his fingers. His neck. His arms. _The body has some automatic mechanisms inside that still operate even when the patient is comatose._ But Kagami isn't a vegetable. He's fully, completely awake and his breath is coming out in little gasps - 

"Kagami, calm down. I said, calm down!" Midorima hits the volume dial on the monitor before it can wake the other patients in the ward. "Kagami, listen to me. You're on medication - relaxants, antibiotics and all the regulars for smoke inhalation and skin regeneration. Because you need it. To put it bluntly, you're pleasantly snowed. So it's alright if you can't move. _You're safe._ You don't have to force yourself to go anywhere right now."

_That's right._ This is the place where Midorima is. This is the place Kagami always comes when he needs patching up. When his old shoulder injury flares. When his ankle aches. Still, he meets Midorima's eyes beyond the barrier of his glasses and finds something there that scares him, makes the fear pulse in his veins, course through his blood. It's so potent his throat closes up and his eyes snap shut. The heart monitor is going crazy.

He opens his eyes at the soft touch at his forehead. Midorima kisses the center three times, each lingering more than the last, before he pulls away. By then Kagami has calmed enough to realize even if _he_ isn't moving, Midorima is squeezing his hand hard enough for them both.

_I am not a general physician_ , he remembers Midorima telling him. _I'm a surgeon. Don't come running to me for these little things. That's not my specialty._

_I know what your specialty is_ , he had laughed. Midorima had looked vexed, frustrated, reluctant, and a little endeared when Kagami had lifted one of Midorima's hands and slicked it up before spreading his legs wide. _So do your worse._

_You mean my best._

Now Midorima wipes the corner of his eyes where tears have trickled out. Because Kagami is afraid. Losing his mother, losing Himuro had nothing on this. This is a different kind of fear that answers all the fears until now and crests them, riding atop those minor gravestones and molehills. He has so much to lose now. The thought of those backs turning on him -

"Kagami," Midorima's voice has a note of pleading he hasn't ever heard before. "I'm here. We are here. I'm not...this isn't my specialty, and I'm hardly the best in my field anyhow. But if there is something to be done, I will do it. For you."

_I love you_ , he wants to say. But instead the tears spill out in a flood-rush and he's turning the breath mask white. Lightning pain jolts, forks through his flesh, under the burns he knows has to be there, into the bones he knows are broken. He's splayed, flayed alive, pulled in fifty directions by all the permutations of despair and regret.

It is the thought of never being able to answer love in the way he has been given it that makes his fingers and palm twitch. It is Midorima's rare, trembling smile he sees last before oversensation carries him away.

There are flowers and fruit when he wakes, mostly little bouquets from the fire station plus one very big one that he knows his housemates got mostly for themselves. It's true; Kise hums as he selects the juicest-looking pear from the bunch and starts to pare it on a borrowed cutting board.

"Uh," Kagami coughs around the pipe that is no longer shoved down his throat. Instead his esophagus feels pummelled and raw, but that's okay, because Kise's eyes shoot up to meet his and he barely restrains himself from flinging him onto all of Kagami's broken body.

"Kagamicchi! You're awake!" In lieu of a linebacker tackle, he pets all the skin he can reach: Kagami's eyelids and nose and lips and ears, a bit of his shoulders and hands. The bandage is off his eye; he can feel it's still swollen but it's going down quick. Kise's smile is doing more wonders for him than the medication, though. Now when he concentrates he moves his toes and fingers and all his extremities. Relief soars through him and when he smiles, Kise holds his arm up to one perfect cheek and presses his lips to the palm.

"I was so worried. We were all frantic. You should have seen Aominecchi - I think he broke your station chief. Not physically of course! Just verbally. And that was before Akashicchi joined in." He sniffles and Kagami feels his heart crack a little, because while Kise is first to cry at movies and books, it takes a lot for him to cry over something in real life. "But it's going to be okay now that you're awake."

"It's good to see you -" Kagami starts to say, but starts to cough instead. Kise straightens him and happily plays nursemaid, bringing him water, cutting the fruit into little pieces so Kagami can swallow if he chews carefully. He feels very pampered, until Kise admits the jetlag is catching up to him and passes out right there on a corner of Kagami's bed.

Kise's hair isn't as soft as he expected; it feels like it's been days since he used that fancy salon shampoo of his. There are dark crescents under his eyes. It's more than just his regular exhaustion from the flight; Kagami doesn't want to know when or how Midorima got word to him or how Kise got here so fast. He probably should have been halfway around the world, but Kise has always been practical, he knows his priorities. His usually impeccable clothing is rumpled, and not in the artisty model kind of way. He whimpers when Kagami strokes his ear.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but the sun has gone down and the shadows have overcome the light when he realizes Kuroko is standing over him, looking down at the two of them. As usual he didn't hear anyone come in, and didn't hear any footsteps. It's only when he reaches his muddled senses out to the rest of the room does he feel that very familiar _not-there_ , oil skating over water, and feels the last of the tension fall from his shoulders. Kuroko didn't shore up Kagami's beliefs. He made new supports and balances the beams effortlessly so Kagami can climb however high he likes.

He still can't shake the feeling that if Kuroko is here, he can do anything.

"I came as soon as I could."

"Isn't it after hours?"

"Midorima-kun got special passes for all of us. He also gave the details to your chief already." He sandwiches Kagami's hand between Kise's hair and his own. "So there's no rush. Rest, Kagami-kun."

_That's my name._ The others all have their own nicknames for him, but the way Kuroko says it makes him sound like he's really calling Kagami home. If home beats in a person shorter than Kagami, smells of vanilla and cheap crayons, and reappears when Kagami isn't expecting him to. Who has the biggest, most jagged shard of Kagami's heart wrapped carefully in layers of shared laughter and smiles like the finest treasure.

He's still a bit woozy from the painkillers but even he can't miss when Kuroko slides a hand around his neck and guides their mouths together. Sweet and wet, Kuroko dunked a ton of sugar and milk into the horrible hospital coffee again. Kagami's always reminded words aren't necessary with Kuroko when they have this correspondence, this synchronization, worry/fear/relief/love/beautiful/wonderful/oh God/concern/yes. Yes, yes, yes.

_We are here_ , they say together. He doesn't know when they stopped kissing. Kuroko pokes his nose at Kagami's temple. Kagami nuzzles Kuroko's chin. Kuroko's touch is gentler than Kise, and more daring - each gauze pad is a question Kagami has to answer, _pain or no pain?_ He sweeps the blanket away to reveal mismatched feet, one white with bandages and the other in a cast. The cool air is a very welcome blessing on Kagami's thighs.

Kuroko curls up on the dislodged comforter and sleeps like it is the only safe roost left for him, with the side of one foot against Kagami's ankle. Kagami watches over the two of them like he always has, and ponders questions he never has the answer to: _How long does paradise last? What happens when they get tired of me? Am I protector or protected?_

_It doesn't matter_ , is the answer that drifts in before he falls asleep. The voice sounds like Aomine. 

On the day of his release only Akashi and Midorima are there, Akashi since he's the only one free to oversee Kagami's rehabilitation, Midorima because the attending physician knows Kagami would rather have him. He walks out on his own power, not woozy anymore, not fearful - it's only in the light of day and off the meds he remembers the solid, ironclad fact that even if they did all turn their backs on him, it didn't mean he would ever stop loving. More painful than having a building fall on you, maybe, but his reasons have sunk into his bones by now. He'll never again forget what it is to feel like part of him lives and breathes as a part of someone else's whole.

"Taiga." _That's my name._ Except Akashi looks so comfortable in his kimono and jacket that the thought is washed from Kagami's mind in the next instant. "What are you waiting for? Get in."

The taxi ride back is stilted while Kagami actually reads his discharge papers and the full extent of all of his work injuries and Akashi simply waits, sitting perfectly straight and staring out the window. Kagami sneaks glances at that perfection between _broken collarbone_ and _further observation recommended for delayed pulmonary edema_. 

Akashi's head swivels to meet his gaze. "Is there something on my face?"

"No."

"Then what is the matter? Shintarou's reports said you had been mostly weaned off of all of the medication."

"It's not the drugs."

Akashi knocks the window. "Stop the car," he orders. They step out into a park, Kagami confused, Akashi solicitously taking his bag. "This way."

In the autumn color and watery sunshine they sit next to each other on the bench, Kagami trying not to fidget too much and Akashi watching preschoolers in the sandbox as if waiting for a sign from above to appear over their heads.

"Don't you have a game today?"

"Postponed."

Kagami's surprised. "I didn't think that was possible. Didn't Kise say there was going to be cameras and TV stations recording you?"

"There will be. It's only for a half day. On family grounds."

That throws Kagami for a moment, thinking Akashi's hosting the game in his family's mansion on the outskirts of Kyoto or something - but then he realizes it's something else entirely. Because that's right; it was a small ceremony attended only by 'friends', just enough to keep Akashi's father off his back about arranged marriages. The necklace with its two rings, cheap stainless steel and white platinum gold, is the first thing Kagami put on when he changed this morning.

No matter if he lets Midorima fuss over him, no matter if Kuroko cradles his heart, no matter if he aches for Kise's enthusiastic hugs while he's away - he _belongs_ to Akashi in a way that none of the others can claim. 

The first time he sank down onto Akashi's lap, he had been asked _Do you mind being my dirty little secret?_ , in which he had answered _No_. Sometimes during stretches where Akashi plays shogi elsewhere, away from their house, he wonders if it was only the heat of the moment that gave him the enthusiasm to answer that way. Certainly it feels like a lie sometimes, especially with Kuroko cuddly and warm in his arms on most nights. 

Most of the time it doesn't.

Most of the time when he slides over the tray of Akashi's tea, the good-morning kiss they share is close-lipped and borderline chaste. But not without feeling. Just like the explosive anticipation when he sees Aomine and he's never sure whether he wants to pound the bastard's face into the ground or be fucked until they're both senseless, the sparse intimacy with Akashi is all the more deep for its rarity.

Like now, with Akashi regarding him levelly and it feels like Kagami is suddenly the center of the universe, something lukewarm and sensual squirms in the pit of Kagami's stomach. It isn't fear, or if it is fear, it isn't the same fear as before, of being left behind. This fear prickles up his spine one vertebrae at a time, as sure as if Akashi's got his hands tied to the headboard and is tracing them one by one.

"Are you feeling well enough to move?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"If you are hungry there are restaurants nearby we could -"

"Is this a date," Kagami blurts out.

Akashi blinks. "We've never been on a date."

"Well...no, I guess we haven't." All of the rare outings with Akashi had been part of a group, or had been events from Akashi's own side, stuffy family dinners and galas and balls and gatherings held for the sake of showing off. The people there never knew there was a ring on Akashi's person somewhere, nor the meaning of the second ring around Kagami's neck. So they flirted with Kagami's domestic partner thinking he was unattached, but maybe Kagami should have actually done something about that.

Suddenly the sun is sharply, painfully bright. "I've been...neglecting you." _So much for being a protector._

"I doubt you could do anything I seriously did not want." Akashi is amused. "Your behavior has been more than adequate. I am unsure what brought this on when it has been years since we were married."

And only now did Kagami realize the gaps - sucking black holes, really - in their...their oddly shared courting...mating...rituals with five other people. Both of them were aware no regular couple, same-sex or otherwise, shared a house with multiple, interchangeable lovers. But even with the rule book on being ordinary thrown out the window, he still felt there were some steps that should be observed, if hiding in a park with the excuse of Kagami feeling unwell was the first time they had time together in months.

"Taiga?" It sounded like Akashi had been calling for some time. He looked close to actually shaking Kagami's shoulder.

"Not hungry." Repeated applications of hospital food only had one cure: food made to his own tastes. "I'm a little tired, so I'd like to go home. And uh, maybe later if you like..."

"Sex?" Akashi says the word as carelessly as he might destroy an opponent across the board.

"No I meant..."

"Ah." Akashi's voice colors with something that on another person might be embarrassment. "A date. Yes."

"Yeah."

"Hm."

Kagami doesn't know what to say to that, so he gets up and starts walking. It's only when he's rounded the corner, ears fiery red with embarrassment, that he remembers he left his bag on the bench and the blush spreads to his cheeks. It takes him another minute staring down the path to realize he's on the opposite end of the park to where they were dropped off and that Akashi was only ten paces behind him, waiting with infinite patience for Kagami to sort out the muddle in his mind. Then they retrace their steps back to their ride together.

"Sorry," Kagami mutters as the car comes into view.

" 'Sorry'?" A shoulder presses against his arm and the contact zings up to the pleasure centers of in his head. It is true, that the brain is the most erogenous organ in the body. Instantly the train switches tracks and he thinks of all the times Akashi commanded him for a night to lay under him, over him, stretched and pulled and twisted this way and that. But each slap and pinch and soothing caress so deliberate and thoughtful Kagami wetted the blindfold with his tears.

"You can be sorry. I'm not," is Akashi's parting remark. "Now get in. Do your woolgathering at home."

"Only you say weird words like 'woolgathering'," Kagami mutters. It's a terrible comeback, but hearing it makes Akashi's mouth twitch like it can't decide which direction it wants to move. Kagami thinks back to the trainer at the hospital and relearning how to use crutches with Akashi and the wheelchair in the corner. He never said anything, just sat and looked. He never needs to do any more than that for Kagami to feel the weight of his presence, like hands pushing him steadily down into a comfy sofa chair.

But even thoughts of Akashi take a fast break for it when he comes home and it's Aomine at the stove. As always a bomb goes off in the vicinity of his stomach - _fight or fuck or fight which one?_ \- until he registers the hulking monolith next to him is helping with everything that doesn't need to be fried. Aomine is strange that way. He is more likely to excel in the things that other people find hard and fail at the things regular people are okay at. Kagami would be confused, except he's kind of the same way.

This, though, is a very normal thing that Aomine does very well: he crosses the kitchen in two big strides and catches Kagami in his arms. A great big hug that turns into a gianormous hug with Murasakibara sandwiching Kagami from the back. "Kaga-chin's back," the giant puffs into his hair. He's heavy, but Kagami doesn't mind the weight. He can hold them up. He'll hold up all of them if he has to. And the best part is, they _know_ he can and they _depend_ on him to do it.

He is one of a whole.

Then Aomine seizes the back of his neck just like Kuroko and mashes them together. The kiss is totally different though. The kiss is hot with tongue slipped in slippery and winding and the whole thing becomes slick and dirty in an instant. He grinds out, Aomine pushes him back in. They both shove against Murasakibara, who doesn't move a centimeter, just holds Kagami up when his knees go weak. He loves that strength and he tilts his head back to prove it against Murasakibara's mouth. He tastes like strawberry shortcake.

"Hey," Aomine's hands are greedy as his voice is raw underneath. Kagami spots the same dark loops under his eyes as Kise. "You come home and I'm here and you're doing shit with other people. Action's here, big boy."

_My name._ The thought flits away when Aomine seizes Kagami's bottom lip with his teeth. Coherent layers fall away like shreds of onions as Kagami struggles to breathe. His shirt goes somewhere; at some point his nipples are so oversensitive from Aomine's mouth that they hurt. Murasakibara doesn't move though it's not a cellphone that's poking Kagami's lower back. His head pounds and he remembers the human body goes into overdrive during copulation, the heart beats twice as fast and muscles spasm three times -

A timer goes off and Aomine gives a heartfelt groan as he trudges back to the stove. Murasakibara drops a boneless Kagami into his regular seat at the dinner table next to Akashi. "I could suck you off," he offers bluntly.

"No strenuous activity while under observation. Shintarou said so." Akashi is playing himself across a cheap magnetic board. Kagami can tell it's an excuse because he feels zero competitiveness from him. 

"Just suck the fun out of everything, won't you," Aomine grumbles. He's turning out golden-white tempura-fried vegetables at an alarming rate, though the volume still leaves something to be desired. It's always a monthly toss up which one costs more, food costs or water from all that laundry.

One by one their housemates return and one by one seeing them makes the tension bleed out. This is another safe place, bussed five times on the face by Kise, checked carefully over by Midorima though they only saw each other five hours ago, embraced gently by Kuroko. Vanilla and crayons. He sinks into the hug, suddenly exhausted and unsure if he'll survive dinner without faceplanting into his food.

It turns out to be a moot concern, because one whiff of familiar home cooking makes his stomach growl. "That's our Taiga," Akashi murmurs from beside him, and spoons nikujaga over Kagami's rice.

"Home at last," Kise agrees happily. It's not just Kagami. It's all of them, digging in with gusto before settling back in their chairs. Murasakibara spent an hour baking a cake that is demolished in five minutes. Leftovers are packed for tomorrow's lunchboxes, utensils cleaned and dishes washed. The routine sinks into his bones and flushes the fear out to leave Kagami dazed and abruptly content. He's missed this without realizing. He's missed the nudges, the minor bickering, the careless manner that betrays fundamental trust.

_Have faith in us_ , Kuroko told him once. _You are not alone._

He has faith. He has faith in this safe place. He curls on the sofa with lots of blankets and Kuroko balled against his front, heavy-lidded from running after children all day. Absent kisses are bestowed on hand and leg and hair and shoulder; the room is warm enough to be shirtless, so everyone sees the discolored skin and healing bits. The night descends into touch and sigh, a cradle of skin and feeling, fingers that don't probe too deep but simply letting Kagami float on the surface, blissful and relaxed, before coming with a huff. Kuroko is still asleep in his arms.

He has no name for it, sure, but he loves his home, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo this actually turned out to be about what Kagami IS called by various people. Hahaha. That's pretty fail on my part but oh well.


	26. [KnB, GoM/Kagami] 2014.10.20:  before i knew it my words were full of wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six specific things that each person likes about Kagami (plus one of what Kagami likes about them). Also, gratuitous smexy fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking over my stuff the other day and though, _Wow, all of it is in the future and sad._ So then I said, _Time to go back to basics_ , so here I am. Dumb basketball boys who are very open-minded horny teenagers living in my free love headcanon world.
> 
> And out came this thing. I've had a thing with people liking different body parts for a long time, because I think what other people notice first is probably different than me. That said, I also wanted to put some weird ones in there and not just do what I've done (hands and eyes). Finding what was beautiful about the human body and how to tie it in with everything else was a fun exercise (no pun intended).

20\. before i knew it my words were full of wishes

[2014.10.28]

1\. Kuroko; hands

Kagami has the best hands, hands down (no pun intended).

The first time he smacked it palm down to noogie Kuroko's hair back and forth, all he could think was a rolling stream of adjectives like _big_ and _strong_ and _thicker fingers than Aomine-kun_. And _rough in that way I like_. And _please oh God oh more please_.

From then on it was a contest with himself to see how many times Kagami would touch him per day. Didn't matter how. More noogies, more jabs to the stomach, more hearty claps on the shoulder. A big fist bumping Kuroko's smaller fist made his heart fly up to the vicinity of his throat. And the crowning achievement Kagami didn't know he had: when Kuroko was going too slow in front of him, he nudged him with the calloused pads of his fingers against Kuroko's lower spine, almost to his tailbone. That had been extremely dangerous, since they had been on their way to the showers. It had taken everything in him to not react, especially when they pressed a little insistently and dragged down on the way.

If he was more delusional than he actually was, he would have taken that as an invitation. As it stood, he knew Kagami just really couldn't wait to wash off the sweat from practice fast enough.

That doesn't keep the fantasy from spinning itself further, though. In the privacy of his own shower booth Kuroko imagined sliding into the same booth a split second before Kagami closed the door. "Wha -?" he would say, bewildered, and then he would take a closer look at Kuroko's expression. "Oh. Okay."

He'd reach out one of those big, blunt hands with the square fingernails and take Kuroko in hand. He'd pump him steady, not too fast or too slow, with the tiles against Kuroko's back and Kagami's head hanging over his own. They would kiss, a sound hidden by the spray. His hand would engulf Kuroko's sex, stroking a notch higher when Kuroko made a breathy sound. He would use his other hand to squeeze Kuroko's ass. And when that happened Kuroko's hands would scrabble for purchase on the tile as he was worked, fisted and thumbed and clenched with Kagami's gaze, the same concentrated look he got on the court, staring him down -

There was a clearly awkward air emanating from his teammates that hadn't finished showering in their own cubicles, probably from the sounds Kuroko had been making. As for Kagami, as usual he was finished first, and was already dressed and waiting at the door. 

His stomach gurgled as Kuroko approached, his face cranking up from _annoyed_ to _hungry-irritated_. "Why aren't you dressed yet? I'm hungry. Hurry up, if I have to wait five minutes more my stomach is going to eat itself."

And then he handed over Kuroko's bag, which was a little warm from his body heat. The imprint of his hand was on the strap, Kuroko witnessed in slow-motion it uncurling, unfolding straight to let Kuroko take. Oh, he would _take_ , if Kagami's stomach didn't make another impassioned plea right at that moment and Kagami didn't huff as he glumly stormed out, absently rubbing his stomach in round, round circles.

Kuroko took a moment to glance back. The locker room was deserted; practice uniforms on the benches, belongings strewn everywhere, food wrappers and soda cans - hardly the location for a quick little frisk. But this idea took shape in Kuroko's mind even faster than the previous one, of backing Kagami into cold metal and having those hands on his shoulders, _Kuroko what is it what do you want_ -

"Kuroko!" Kagami pounded twice on the door. "I'm dying out here!"

 _I'm dying in here, too._ Prudently Kuroko took an extra second to shift his practice bag so it squarely covered his front.

 

2\. Kise; shoulders

According to Kasamatsu Kise was weird in weird ways, as in more than having a semi-professional job by age ten and being able to copy all the body movements he saw. Because those were just odd, but not _weird_. What was _weird_ was that he _liked_ to watch people move, whether they were girls or boys. He reasoned it helped him understand others (which was true). And it helped him pinpoint how and where to react. What was _natural_ and _unnatural_.

What was definitely unnatural was how much he liked Kagami's shoulders.

 _Kagamicchi_ , he said all the time during streetball, slinging an arm around the redhead of his dreams. And feeling that solid bulk holding him always made something explode in his stomach, different than the way looking at Aomine made him feel. Something softer and gentler but no less impactful, because the mumbling of _Gerroff me, damn limpet_ was dampened by the faint tinge of pleasure on Kagami's cheeks.

 _Oh_ , Kise thought the first time. _Oh no._ Because Kagami was all Kuroko's ground. It couldn't be any more obvious unless the Phantom Sixth Man actually tattooed a sign and barcode to Kagami's ass that read **Property of Kuroko Tetsuya**.

Well, that didn't mean Kise couldn't fantasize about that ass. But while the ass was good - that ass was _fine_ \- Kise liked partners he couldn't break, which shortlisted the pool of dating candidates by a lot. Kagami was not one of the people winnowed out. Kagami, from the very beginning, proved he could take everything Kise threw at him and maybe more. Kise wasn't a masochist by any means, but he liked a challenge as much as the next red-blooded man except he was a better sport about losing when it came to the bedroom, so if Kagami bowled him over, boxing him in with those broad, muscled shoulders, Kise might be okay with pretending to be overwhelmed.

Kagami could maul him all he wanted, he decided. Leave hickeys and bites all over until Kise's stylist screamed, and then his manager came in screamed too. But Kise would float in a daze, remembering how he pushed up against those shoulders, a snarl on his lips, and they _didn't move_. They would just bear down even more as Kise struggled and squirmed until they were both breathless, and then Kagami would look like the animal he was named after, some wild monster, and it didn't matter if he was using his hands or thigh or knee or hip or cock, Kise would come all over him, come embarrassingly noisy that Kagami would swallow up with his mouth along with the tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes, swiping tongue and lips all over until Kise was clean.

Every time he muttered, "Bring it, Kise," the blond had to think unsexy thoughts, which was impossible, which made for some pretty weird and awkward exits (at least for Kise) as he excused himself so he could dash to the bathroom and jerk off. It didn't help that Kagami, true to his time abroad, always started out wiping his sweat off with the hem of his T-shirt and graduated by the end of streetball in summer flexing his bare, bare shoulders as he dunked past Kise.

He looked like a fool. Kise _knew_ he looked like a fool, staring. But he also couldn't help but think Kuroko had a point, about Kagami being a light. He was damn near blinding when he was into it. Kise only bemoaned he wasn't _into him_ , like, right this second.

That was before he took a closer look and discovered Kagami had _little sprinkle black dots_.

"Oh shit," he said compulsively. Kagami jerked back at the touch of his hand on his upper back. He glared, except not really, because Kagami was like Aomine, he always looked somewhat mutinous. This time was more of an embarrassed kind of annoyed, and it was - dare Kise even think it within a hundred meter radius of Kuroko because the Shadow always _knew_ \- _adorable_.

"Oh shit," he repeated.

"What?" Kagami barked. "What are you looking at? Is there something on my back? Did that bastard Aomine draw something there?" Aomine had a very bad habit of staying over on weekends, a bad habit Kise wished he could form too except he was usually too busy cramming five or six photo shoots in forty-eight hours that he couldn't usually do because of basketball practice. Kise would be in fear for Kagami's ass - if there was anyone who admired it more than him, it would be Aomine - except Kuroko slept over even more often.

"N - no," Kise stuttered. He _never_ stuttered, but this - this development was just too - "Uh. No. Just, uh. Um. Do you know you have dots here?" He pressed down on a cluster that looked like a constellation of stars, and Kagami's shoulders - broad, bare, firm, smooth, so steady - hunched down further in embarrassment while Kise watched the flesh give a little, spreading the dots in the indent, stark against the white fingerprint Kise left.

"They're just freckles," he snapped, but it was meant as a mumble by the way his ears flared red. "They're only in that one place. A weird place. And everyone always points it out."

Kise could guess why.

He could now also imagine leaning down to replace finger with mouth, how Kagami would jolt right into his arms. How he would suck a thrilling game of connect-the-dots with Kagami bent over the bench. He would arch against Kise's front as he humped Kagami's ass. He would keen when Kise left a red circle of teethmarks around his favorite cluster, and come all over himself when Kise told him how much his body turned him on.

"Hey, we're going to Maji Burger after this. Kuroko wants a shake and the rest of us want food. You coming?"

As if his eyes had magnets he looked up. They _had_ to be magnetically attracted to where Kagami's cute freckles were now covered up by a spare shirt. But Kise knew they existed now. Kise could see them clearly in his mind. Kise wanted to taste them so bad his mouth watered.

"Um." He ducked his head to wipe away his drool. "You guys go first. I'm gonna finish this e-mail first. To my manager, you know."

"Suit yourself." Kagami shrugged and called to the others. Kise sat with his practice bag in his lap and pretended to text for a long time before he gave it up for a lost cause, and made his way to the park bathroom.

 

3\. Aomine; butt

Aomine wasn't interested in any wonders of the world except for the ones he made up himself. One of them was Mai-chan's tits, of course, those things could topple nations. He would worship them personally, _intimately_ if he had the chance (and if that damn Kise would actually introduce them sometime - he kept bragging how he knew her, that stupid-pretty blond _jerk_. Aomine would never know what other people saw in him). He would build an altar and light incense and become even more of a zealot than he already was for big honkers, because they really deserved it, just for existing and making his life a more sparkling place.

And yet. Kagami's _ass_.

Holy Inari on a shitstick, that thing was glorious. He checked out other people of course - seriously, he wouldn't show up to practice at if he didn't feel the occasional urge to see and show off skin - but Kagami's butt, that deserved a nice, lasting squeeze. The type that would make said redhead jump and glare at him, glare that furious glare of _goddammit Aomine I said there's enough for seconds, so get up and get them yourself instead of stealing from me!_ Except it would be tinged with _goddammit Aomine my stupid boyfriend is horny again, shit is he planning to cream my ass again_. In the fun way. The fun-fun way.

His longtime running fantasy involved rutting the crack of that ass until he came, and Kagami fighting him like the feral beast he was named after, trying to raise himself off of the wall Aomine pushed him into. And failing, getting more and more turned on with every bang of his knees, which would hurt except Aomine was grunting and groaning and _squeeze-squeeze-squeezing_ that ass, parting it, pulling it up and down and petting it, stroking it before pinching and slapping it - 

He wouldn't need actual penetration. All Aomine wanted was the chance to mark those perfect globes with his teeth, his hands, his spunk.

Of course reality was somewhat different. It went without saying Kagami was all Kuroko's territory. Even if he was willing to share - which Aomine suspected he was, except he himself hadn't really made a move and everybody else was waiting with bated breath and a running pool for how long it would take - Kagami had funny thoughts about being a manly-man, and might not appreciate someone gunning for his ass (not literally; Aomine would knock off the head of anyone who tried, as he proved with Kise and Haizaki).

(It probably meant something that he put Kagami in the same slot as other people he had known for years, but Aomine was still trying to get. Over. That. Ass. Or rather, on top of.)

Most of the time he could block it out, of course. He wasn't like stupidhead Kise, who went gooey-eyed every time Kagami took off his shirt. But he would be lying if there weren't a few times Kagami wore shorts that were a little too old and a little too loose, that slipped down in the middle of play to expose his hip. Then the urge to look for the V of his hips, and maybe even the shadow of his buttcrack would take over, though Aomine would kick himself afterwards when Kagami started crowing how he got in another point. Dumb tigerhead. Dammit, that was another one -

It was random, but Kagami liked cats. Almost as much as he hated dogs. And on the way home he had been sucking on a popsicle with Kuroko on his right and Aomine on his left before he stopped suddenly and crouched on the sidewalk, lips Blue Hawaiian as he coaxed, "Hey there, furball."

The cat came, because cats also liked Kagami, and the delighted look on his face was the fuzzy warm version of the one he got when he scored a point against Aomine during one-on-one -

With furry, striped ears and a tail that followed Aomine's touch. A hard body that rubbed his legs hard when he wanted a scratch. Nude around the house, because Aomine wasn't cruel enough to force clothes on a pet in private. Cock hanging free, it would rise when Aomine circled two fingers around the base of his tail, and Kagami would purr and spread his legs, spread that ass, letting Aomine's slick fingers dig in.

Would he ride hard? Would he rumble so low it felt Aomine's bones were rattling? All he could think of was the weight on his legs as cat-Kagami returned the favor, pulling his sweatpants down and taking him into his mouth. Licking him like a favorite treat, sucking him devotedly, careful of his teeth except for when he meant to use them. Aomine would make sure he came first, a cry pulled from his lungs as his claws came out and Aomine didn't care if he was shredding the sofa, he would just pound his fingers in deep, riding out the waves. And then Kagami would go back to doing him, sloppy and oversensitive and eager to please, eager for reciprocation, and Aomine would pet him, pet his tail, smooth his spine, play with his ass -

"Aw, it ran away," Kagami said, crestfallen. Aomine was aware he turned back to look at his companions, but he was more aware of the glare Kuroko was spearing him open with. Or rather, it wasn't a glare, because Kuroko didn't glare - it was just a look of severe, disciplinarian disappointment that preceded a calamitous, unavoidable blow to the stomach that not only underlined Aomine's idea that Kagami had to first be Kuroko's or bust, but also that Kuroko was telepathic. Also, it had the added benefit of being so painful Aomine's libido shut down immediately.

"Uh, did I miss something?" Kagami looked between the two of them.

"It was nothing, Kagami-kun," Kuroko replied sweetly. Aomine had claimed he was Devil Incarnate when he wanted to be, but of course Kagami was too damn loyal. He had no idea it was _his_ angelic ass that turned heads.

"Yep," Aomine managed to wheeze in agreement.

Wisely, he decided he would stay over at Kagami's house next Saturday instead.

 

4\. Murasakibara; mouth

It was like a goddamn dam burst after their summer game that had been interrupted by a sudden shower. All Himuro did after that was talk about Kagami, about what they did in America, what Kagami's favorite foods were, what kind of attacks he favored, what kind of shoes he liked and why, and how cute he was when he was little. Trying too hard to be cool before they grew up a little and grew _into_ coolness and his impressive height (though of course it was nothing compared to Murasakibara's, of course).

Kagami definitely didn't have that _wannabe_ feeling anymore, especially not when he faced Murasakibara on the court. Didn't matter if they were in a gym or on a blacktop, in a streetball game or an official one. Didn't matter who was watching them, unless it was Kuroko. And then Murasakibara took a little more care not to get caught acting-in-the-wake-of-looking, because stealing kisses was just about as much fun as discovering/falling in love with new flavors of snacks.

He wasn't sure when he started noticing Kagami's lips. Probably by the way he always made a beeline for the benches and his water bottle, throat bobbing as he swallowed. They were full but not that pouty kind of full, a faint shade that didn't stand out until one actually attention to it. 

He knew he wasn't the only one. But the quality of Kagami's mouth, he didn't think anyone else had such a full appreciation of.

Because Kagami didn't laugh when Murasakibara talked about new flavors of snacks. It was possible he liked new flavors and new foods as much as Murasakibara did, which was pretty amazing, even if it was more of a desire to try foods he made with his own hands. Still, Murasakibara found himself being more and more accomodating with his snacks every time Kagami gave that whipped puppy - well, _kitty_ \- look whenever Mayubou came up with a new flavor.

That appreciation dimmed after the tenth time and gave way to _how_ Kagami ate.

It was a different look that was no less intense for something so innocuous. Except his eyes went half-lidded and the corners of his mouth went slack with enjoyment. Sometimes, if it was something really good, he would give this unconscious growl, absently licking crumbs off his cheek. Murasakibara found himself imagining more and more what it would be like to follow the trail of that tongue with his own, and how startled Kagami would be if he slipped it inside of Kagami's mouth, tasting barbeque potato chips or cheesy shrimp snacks or too-sweet chocolate. How he could pin him down, sweating, wiggling to free himself or under pretenses of fighting, only to give in when Murasakibara dug deeper, sucking his tongue into his own mouth, twisting his grip, his head, grabbing his hair to keep him still and suck at his lips.

Kagami would give this helpless little groan then, the same utterance he made when he ate something very delicious, and slowly go limp. Murasakibara would manhandle him into position, knees to his chest then over Murasakibara's shoulders, and he would thrust to take because there would be _nothing_ like the taste of Kagami as he was driven to the edge untouched because Murasakibara was too big and touching him right _there_ , pounding into Himuro's little-big brother, possessing him the way he wanted to be, total and absolute, bearing down on him like a hammerstrike.

Murasakibara looked down and even _he_ knew it was a bit strange to be popping a boner in the middle of a public park, no matter how delicious the eye candy was. 

(That was definitely a pun worthy of Kuroko's best back-of-the-knees jabs; really, he had to be more careful, or else Kuroko would suddenly grow the ability to laser-eviserate someone with his eyes on top of telepathy and half of the people on the court would be dead. Namely, all of his old teammates.)

After the match they had lost against Seirin, instead of Himuro it was like Murasakibara's brain suddenly blew up with ideas of Kagami. He was really a nice guy, which made it worse; he always took time to translate English recipes that Murasakibara wanted to read but couldn't be bothered to look up incomprehensible vocabulary for, albeit in a very casual way that had ended up in a few kitchen disasters because of unclear directions. And the weekends he came back where the Tokyo teams had a standing reservation for streetball only multiplied his desire to feed Kagami since the first time he got his first indirect kiss from a Mayubou stick. As if he needed to be fed; Kuroko seemed convinced he ate his body weight every day, like a panda.

The others had caught on somewhat, but Murasakibara had to admit he was a bit more obsessed than the others. He sat near when Kagami drank things. He fed Kagami Jagaringo, cookies 'n cream Pockie, and Meltybent chocolate just to see him smear his lips with his tongue. Delicious.

They could have food sex, he thought. Drizzle chocolate sauce over his nipples, over his sex. Suck him until Kagami was ripe for the finish, then back away. The redhead would give this aching little moan and spread his ankles a little wider. After finishing his front Murasakibara would do his back, scolding him every time he moved. One cut strawberry with whipped cream for every three vertebrae, plus DimDams melting on his shoulderblades, caramel popcorn balanced precariously in lines, like an airplane runway. As he leisurely filled his stomach by eating up Kagami's back, Kagami would make those encouraging, engrossed hums as he sucked and lapped Murasakibara's dick. Mouth open, moaning, red. Feeding himself with the same hungry enjoyment.

Really a nice guy. He held out two boxes of mango-coconut Pockie and sweet potato Tepero respectively, saying he saw them in the hundred-yen store the day before and thought of him. He opened both immediately.

"Stop hitting on my brother," Himuro warned him on the way back to school.

 _You had your chance and you blew it_ , Murasakibara didn't retort back. "He looked like he needed it."

"Needed to get fat?" Himuro asked in disbelief. "You fed him half of those sweet stick things. He hardly needs the sugar, even if he can probably work that off in an hour."

He thought of how the tip of Kagami's tongue poked out to catch the last bit of chocolate and immediately regretted it, because Himuro was only telepathic when it came to his little brother. He was also stronger and bigger than Kuroko, which was why Murasakibara actually rubbed at the arm that got punched. "Ow."

Himuro had this gleam in his eye. The same kind of feral maniacal gleam that Kagami got. They had never looked so related as they did now, except that they actually weren't. "So, stop."

"You're the one who was talking about feeding him stuff," Murasakibara muttered. He was gratified to see Himuro rewind his thoughts back and blush the same full-pink blush as Kagami when he was thanked by Murasakibara for his kind thoughtfulness. That was kind of delicious too but - nah, while it would get him out of Kuroko's scrutiny, dating the older one just wouldn't be the same. Kagami's naivete at all those stolen kisses just made things so much sweeter.

 

5\. Midorima; eyebrows

The first time Midorima noticed Kagami in that not-rivalry way, he almost killed himself. Partially because he noticed it in the middle of the road with Takao on the other side, chatting off his ear about something his mother had done on the trip she took last week while his attention was focused in on Kagami's eyebrows. Which were making this upsy shape they made only rarely. It took a moment to realize it was because at Momoi's insistence and Aomine's gratuitous(ly jealous) sneering, Kagami was relating an anecdote of his own, about a girl who had confessed to him last week. That wasn't the surprising part, of course. It was that wiggly shape his eyebrows made, crinkly and bunched a little in the middle, but not in the angry way. The pleased-and-secretly-hiding it way.

"Are you listen - oh, Shin-chan. You have it so bad." At least Takao imparted the last part in too low of a voice for the rest of the group to have heard.

He turned to glare at his partner. "I do not. I do not feel anything for that brute. I did say to Kuroko before that I would kill myself before I thought of Kagami as any more than a dumb, senseless lug who lacks any sort of endearing and productive qualities."

"Who said anything about Kagami," Takao shot back amiably. He didn't look at all flustered that he didn't get to tell the second half of his story, unlike Kagami who was now fending off increasingly persistent questions about cup size, average cuteness versus if she had interest in basketball, and long hair versus short hair. Apparently Kagami didn't have a type, he answered bewilderedly when Momoi looked at him expectantly. And then fumbled his way through an explanation about basketball being all the busy extracurricular activity he could manage right now, especially since he was still occasionally getting red marks on tests.

Despite the cram sessions Midorima graciously provided before midterms and finals (the best way to memorize material was to teach it, nevermind Seirin High had different educational requirements than Shuutoku). And despite the first time Midorima had seen that damning little crinkle on those damnably ~~cute~~ unique eyebrows.

"This is correct," Midorima had said in shock because the last few attempts had been a total mess. Which was why praise had come tumbling out as well. "And you wrote the proof exactly. I'm amazed. Well done."

 _Crinkle of doom_ was always preceded by _startled/pleased_ and _slow/awesome wonder-eyes_. And with the advent of eyebrows knitting together, came a shy, hopeful smile that belonged on a one-year-old that didn't know better, much less a sixteen-year-old. "Really?" he asked, but Midorima wasn't listening, he was staring at the ~~adorable~~ sweet pea pink flush on Kagami's cheeks and the way his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Y - yeah." At that exact moment Kuroko's eyes appeared like twin moons over the top of his novel. As much as they rubbed each other wrong, they had still spent a fair amount of time together, which was why Midorima read loud and clear: _don't even think about it._

Midorima did _not_ think about it.

Until Kagami and Kuroko were gone from the house.

Then, in the privacy of his shower, he imagined that grin, and the next one as Midorima solemnly complimented his calves (they were really very nicely shaped), and how they might look in legwarmers (lucky item from last week, but Midorima was probably the only one who cared). And how that brow might also zigzag a little when they shared a shower and he commented on Midorima's untaped hands, and Midorima told him they were more sensitive bare, _like this_ -

Kagami would let him touch, because Kagami couldn't tell innuendo from Buddha even if it smacked him in the face. Until Midorima primed him, pumped him flushing pink like that thrill of pleasure at the study table, except this one went all the way down to his groin. And then abruptly he _would_ get it, and try and push Midorima away, except even through the fog and the wet spray on his glasses he would see it coming and lean in. He was taller; he would lean in and bite that little bunched-up knot between his eyebrows lightly, following it with his tongue and kisses all around, and Kagami would slide down little by little. Slumped against the tile wall, clinging to Midorima's shoulders as he stroked the both of them, feeling every thrust becoming more and more eager as they raced to the finish - Kagami would wrench away at the last moment with the same conflicted wriggly line above his helplessly needy eyes and pant, openmouthed, throat bared as he came.

He was possibly doomed to, well, _die_. Even if he hadn't sworn, a little part of him withered as this fantasy played out. Because ninety-nine percent of the time Kagami was an uncouth plebian, more akin to a hooting gorilla rather than the feline he was named after. And even then, Kagami resembled a domesticated tabby more than, well, wildcat, with the housewife routine and the way he sometimes stared after the way Kuroko very obviously had an unbreakable bond with all of his old teammates, especially now that he had brought joy of the game back into their lives. Forlorn and a bit neglected.

Midorima had a habit of taking stray garbage home, especially things that still looked intact. Who knew when he would need a dog's squeaky chew toy or a kid's flashlight in the shape of a bear? He wouldn't be able to resist when Kagami slunk out a dumpster, eyes flashing dangerous, eyes flashing _vulnerable_ , and despite all, _every single one_ of Midorima's mental alarms, he would coax Kagami to follow him.

He would dry him off, change his clothes, test if he could speak. And discover the barcode on that seemingly human skin was actually the registration number for an escaped android. Once he was sure Midorima wouldn't attack he would take advantage of warmth and human touch that he had been given. Midorima wouldn't expect another human being, even thrown-out rubbish with no education, to slide into his lap and know how to ride. Kagami would duck his head to kiss and serve, and - because this was happening in some indefinite, imaginary future from a scifi novel - he would know how to get Midorima off by sinking his self-lubricating body onto Midorima's willing cock. And afterwards he would say his first words - _Did you like that? Round Two?_ \- and his eyebrows would bunch with pleasure when Midorima couldn't give anything more than a breathy, encouraging moan. 

He shook his head away from Takao's knowing smirk. His best friend-slash-partner gave him a sad, mocking nod and mouthed, _Hopeless_.

When he turned back to see Kagami trying to fight off his rival and his rival's life manager, he found Kuroko looking at him. It was a very impressive, very impassive stare. The kind that promised death and disembowelment and hell, just plain _disapproval_. His ribs gave a shadowy echo of the pain Kuroko could inflict. Even if he had never been on the receiving end before, if it made an idiot-bastard like Aomine avoidant, it was dangerous.

 _Don't even think about it_ , was what he was saying.

Midorima kept his eyes front, ignoring the racket going on over Kagami's confessor's love note, but still arranged his bag over his front as a shield, just in case.

 

6\. Akashi; head/hair

Blocking petty thoughts wasn't necessary. What _was_ was the ability to accept that they had been thought, and that a person could move on from them. Which didn't account for why some of them popped up again and again in Akashi's brilliant mind, along with other admittedly idle meanderings since he started joining his father on his weekly business trips to Tokyo. For instance, the fact that some of his old teammates (he still shied away from the word _friends_ ) were being ridiculous over a spot of bulging muscles and red hair.

It was hardly extraordinary, after all, to be noticed or complimented for something that a person did not actively achieve by doing themselves. Which meant the muscles were one thing, but the hair - longer and spikier, almost shaded black near the roots - could be discredited as a simple physical aberration, like Akashi's own.

Which really didn't account for why, even the first time standing above and looking down at that full scalp, Akashi had felt an unprecedented urge to _pull_. Like yanking weeds out of the ground, except Akashi had never weeded before in his life.

It wasn't that he wanted to make Kagami go bald. (That just reminded him of Buddhist monk robes which, admittedly, wasn't a wholly unappealing image, just jarringly unfamiliar.) It was just a hunch that...that Kagami would react positively somehow. Just a feeling. That twining those strands and pulling a little would expose Kagami's throat and -

 _Ah._ Hands bound back with a line of exquisite knots down his back, Kagami would take the place of the people demonstrating the fine, ancient Japanese art of _shibari_. A coil loose around his neck, a collar for Akashi to pull, which he would - Kagami's cheek would land on his thigh and while he was brash and crude and uncultured outside his eyes would fall half-lidded in the pleasure of finally being touched. On display countless others would admire him - but Akashi would have the leash looped securely in his hand, alternately twisting and soothing Kagami's scalp, watching his throat bob as he swallowed the saliva that built up behind the gag.

A little tweak of fingers over his ear and - Kagami's head would get heavier as his breathing picked up volume. There would be no questions, no answers between them since they had been all long said; Akashi would only have to leisurely untie the gag before Kagami replaced it with Akashi's cock, throat leaving smooth, wet glides up and down, just the way he liked.

Too much servility, perhaps. And a dangerous assumption of trust. Incongruous with the way Kagami looked now, yelling something at Aomine about hassling him over love notes, with his whole body language screaming like a cat petted the wrong way. On the contrary, a unnoticed witness, Kuroko looked perilously close to smiling fondly.

Idle speculation meant Akashi wondered just what had put that look on his face. His suspicion was that nothing had happened between Light and Shadow so far. Yet the expression only turned more dazed as Kagami stormed back to his partner and smacked a hand down in his hair in retaliation for letting Aomine gleefully chase him around with a husky pup. Come to think of it, Aomine also looked abnormally delighted.

 _Why do I know these people_ had, at some point, become _How can I be a part of these people_ , all operating on some strange shared wavelength of thought, clustered around the giant picnic box that Kagami grumbled took him far too long to make, yet eagerly offered meat skewers and octopus-shaped wieners with the puzzled admission that Kise had asked for them. He kept having to stop in the middle of fighting Aomine to make up a plate for Akashi himself because Murasakibara kept feeding him for some reason. And Midorima kept staring at Kagami's face.

Akashi could understand all of these impulses - he was the Emperor, after all, and defeat didn't change that - but they were all incorrect. Looking down at the whorl of the back of Kagami's head (a rare head of hair that spun left rather than right), Akashi's much more domesticated fantasy featured Kagami transferring to Rakuzan so to escape his growing crowd of admirers. And on the bus home after a victory, his sleepy head would drop slowly, ever so slowly onto Akashi's shoulder, a signal flare of his propensity to wring himself of all energy during games. He would never know, dead to the world as he was and clustered with Akashi in their own seat row, how Akashi had taken that time to drag his chin up by fisting his hair back, how Akashi had teased his nipples through his shirt, how Akashi had fisted him again as he pumped clumsily, hot breath curling deep in the back of his throat. When he climaxed he would wake up and, as a committed pair, would mutter complaints about Akashi being a sadistic boyfriend with the penchant for doing it in public.

Viciously curbing his imagination, he just as viciously yanked Kagami upright with a firm grip on his hair. "OW!" he yelped, almost upending Akashi's plate in his own lap. "What the fuck you - argh, sadistic - weirdo - Emperor - Kuroko! Is he holding scissors?"

"No," Kuroko answered.

"So you are aware you need a trim," Akashi gracefully took the lead-in. "But I was more wondering if you will ever be done with my share."

Gritting his teeth, eyes sparking mutinously, Kagami showed him the plate. "This suit _Yer Highness_?"

"More takuwan, if you would." Only then did he let go.

And only after handing over the plate did Kagami run his hand through his hair where Akashi's had been a moment ago, ruffling his hair back, and - for a moment he looked slick and smooth and Akashi's imagination took off in the direction of expensive suits, hairgel and a golden drink in hand. One-night stands with a man that looked so wild, but was actually so in need of a firm hand pushing his face into the mattress -

 _Time for that later_ , Akashi thought, and took the first decisive bite of deliciousness.

 

+1. Kagami

He dropped his bag in the entranceway. No, he picked it up again because _argh_ they were driving him _up the wall_ and simply dropping it wouldn't make him feel better, but tossing it into the corner of the living room did, slightly. So did flopping sideways onto the couch, banging his knee on the way and not caring in the least. He shucked off his sweatpants and boxers in quite the same way, thanking God or Gods or whatever is up there he held it together until he got home.

And now he gripped himself, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off like he had _far_ too many times before, when Kise got too close, always smelling so good, or Kuroko looked at him like Kagami was an awesome person who had just given him the stars and the moon, or the rigid, severe, yet equally intense way Midorima blocked him again and again, challenging his every move. 

He always imagined a big wide bed and maybe restraints long enough so he could be flipped over without too much trouble. A blindfold, maybe, and in the darkness behind it he would only see hands and knees and cock in his imagination, brushing against him, dipping inside of him, teasing, mocking, telling him how good he looked, telling him how filthy he would get by the time they were finished with him. Spreading him out like butter on toast, tasting him like the finest wine - _ugh_ , did Murasakibara even know how he looked when he fed Kagami half of his plate? Here Kagami was straining to feed _him_ , but no, it would be Kise and Kuroko, he could tell by the size of their hands, because Murasakibara could only be the one pulling him open by the ankles, biting, sucking a line up from his heel, all the way to the tender inside of his thigh. 

"C'mon," Aomine would urge, and the bitter taste when his lips were bumped would tell him exactly what it was. He would fight - they always fought - until Akashi grabbed his head and forced it back.

"Don't be shy about what you want," he would warn, and Kagami would shudder, Akashi's smooth voice snaking electric over his skin. Opening his mouth was the least Kagami would do for more of it. "Don't hold back when we're all watching."

"We are," Kuroko would say from somewhere down below. Innumerable, indescribably heated hands and mouths and skin would descend from every direction, twisting, turning, pulling the sounds out of him, pushing him this way and that. Someone would sink in with a groan, someone would sink down on top of him. Warmth would surround him, slick and ready, riding and being ridden. The taste of Aomine thick and heavy on his tongue - Kagami would suck and suck and jerk at the hot splash as someone came on him. He wouldn't know who and he wouldn't care, he would only strain, arch for more, _please give me -- more --_

It was really ridiculous how the little things set him off, like Kise asking for sausages last night, or Kuroko nuzzling his hand unconsciously when he fell asleep during a movie. Midorima shoving an identical version of whatever weirdo horoscope item he was carrying today (Kagami had four new pairs of underwear he had never worn - and only one of those was for men). Aomine smacking his ass, totally bro, totally smirking like he owned the world, except the one standing on the top was looking down on him from high with that goddamn superior look on his face that made Kagami want to punch it or kneel, two extremely different ends of the spectrum. And Murasakibara, tongue out, tasting the food, drawing it into his mouth - _shit_.

He didn't care if he was the one doing the fucking or the one getting fucked, something had to give and soon. He couldn't keep acting like he was normal, because he was getting the feeling he wasn't and that he was actually a _freak_ running with a pack of like-minded freaks, that these were his _friends_ (he still said that with a mental blush and mutter) and he really, really wanted them to pin him down and make him unable to walk until next week.

"Fuck," he cursed as he came for the second time - everyone in suits, people tied up with silk ties, he ended up with Akashi ramming down his throat and Aomine/Kuroko double-teaming him, one from the front and the other from the back - and finally felt drowsiness close in on him. Embarrassing as it was, there was no one to see him roll over and fall asleep right there.

_Or so he thought._

Unnoticed as usual, Kuroko finally put down his cellphone so he could upload the video. A minute later the messages started pouring into the group chat.

_17:56 PM, MIDORIMA >> I hate you_  
 _17:56 PM, KISE >> Why, was Takaocchi looking over your shoulder just now?_  
 _17:57 PM, KISE >> HOLY he actually said my name OH GOD OH GOD_  
 _18:00 PM, AOMINE >> hold it right there tetsu i'm coming over_  
 _18:01 PM, AOMINE >> or rather just hold him down._  
 _18:05 PM, KISE >> HELLOOOO party in Kagamicchi's pants!_  
 _18:06 PM, ME >> He doesn't have any on. Also, he's asleep, it'll have to wait for tomorrow_

Wryly, Kuroko reflected it looked like all parties had been stressed out for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only things worked out so easily all the time, in every situation. *sigh*


	27. [KnB, Kagami/Kuroko] 2014.11.01:  we must put effort and energy into anything we wish to change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kagami's day off from the firehouse. Warning: domesticity, a dog, and severe cavities on the part of the reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself to _JUST WRITE SOMETHING!_ but I didn't think it would be so bad. I mean, I'm ashamed. I didn't think I had this much bubbly contentment inside of me to still write this kind of thing.

1\. we must put effort and energy into anything we wish to change  
2014.11.05

Heat. From the sun prickling through the blanket on his back. It's getting too warm to stay covered up under a comforter, but his bed partner is always so cool Kagami worries, blindly he reaches out to check -

There is no one in bed with him. He cracks an eye open and shuts it immediately, because the sunlight is _blinding_. Another thing that isn't him; shutting the balcony curtains is always the last thing he does before he sleeps, usually half-conscious by that time. That they've been thrown to both sides to let in the light is an unexpected but not unpredictable change.

Still, he hates the bed like this. Like a wide expanse of meringue that extends in powdered sugar and coconut flakes. His mind clicks, starts to whir, he thinks of the time they went to Tsukiji Market and watched the first and earliest denizens of Tokyo greet the day before anyone else. It was hellishly early, he remembers. And no cake in the little breakfast sushi shop on the outer layer of the market - just the smoothest, tenderest cut of salmon that ever melted into his mouth.

At first bite he had looked to where Kuroko was studying his simple tray, simple bowl of miso soup with a mild look that belied his concentration. He was actually super-focused. Laser-focused. The next bite - tai of some sort - was followed by the fatal half-lid and the unwillingness to swallow, to milk every last bit of deliciousness before the moment ended.

It was that moment Kagami thought, _we all have to put effort and energy into the things we want to change._ The shared apartment, the leering jokes from their mutual friends, even they way they sat on the couch, careful not to touch - like they were both waiting for an explosion, when it had already happened long ago, a whole barrel of laughs and tears. Three years, three Cups. _Seirin._

The first time he took Kuroko's hand was outside of that restaurant. His fingers were cool, he found. But the rest of him could burn hot, hot as hellfire, if he let Kagami stroke it up there.

Now that's making him hot. Hotter. Whatever. With one hand he tosses off the blanket and that's when he hears the click of nails that aren't quite muffled by the carpet. A whine from the edge of fluffy white-dense down, and the press of an alarming cold and wet nose against his fingers. Kagami hisses and jerks his hand back, but Nigou follows. Stupid dog, always given an inch and taking a goddamn mile; just as Kagami thinks he's gone, there's a _whoosh_ and a dip in the bed, and then the stupid furball is trying to chew off his head.

"Augh, get off! Ugh." Panting happily, Nigou cocks his head at him from above. God in the shape of a dog - Kagami's worst nightmare. Seriously, when he finally kicked it and went through that whole heart and feather and weighing of the divine scales, he would really prefer not to be cringing the whole time at Anubis.

 _I see something stuck in your head_ , Kuroko tells him playfully. He wrote a fantasy about the Egyptian afterlife a while ago. Kagami read it like reads all of Kuroko's books, and just like always he grumbled he didn't understand any of it when it was actually riveting.

That's another thing. He reads. He's planning to read today in fact. Though it's just material for Kise's next voice-acting role ("Kagamicchi, Kagamicchi! You gotta see this - the guy I'm playing this time is _exactly like me!_ "), it's still waiting on the kitchen counter along with a covered breakfast. He doesn't make breakfast all the time anymore, especially not when he comes back from a sixty-four bender. That's also why he let himself sleep in today; tomorrow it'll be back to jogging in the morning.

Nigou whines, and they're familiar enough with each other now that he doesn't look the least deterred when Kagami nudges him away with his foot. "No human food, doggie brain." He can't think when he's just woken up. Thankfully, the microwave doesn't need him to. He dives into another Kuroko-improvised breakfast (scrambled eggs and bacon with ketchup doled into a croissant) and drinks soy milk mechanically. He feels marginally more awake when he's done.

Awake enough to tackle the first few tasks: laundry, and dusting. They're always the most careful with the second-to-top shelf above Kuroko's teacher's certification textbooks. Kagami mentally names the photo frames as he wipes off each one and sets them safely on the coffee table one by one: _Seirin Cup #1_ , _Seirin Interhigh #2_ , _Tatsuya and Alex being doofs_ , _Bakery opening_ , _I fail at shogi_. _TMFD and TMPD joint rescue training_. _Kise's congrats party for getting his pilot's license, not that we ever thought he would use it._

He tosses the towel they use to cushion the frames so they don't break during an earthquake into the laundry and starts a load. Beats the smaller carpets out on the balcony, calls the carpet guy for the big one (next week, Tuesday, eleven AM if possible, next-next Wednesday, same time - not Kagami's handwriting). Dusts some more. Feels like a housewife, he reflects wryly. Goes to the store surrounded by lots of other old biddies in their house aprons and feels even more like a kept man.

It isn't until he gets back and sees the shower rug is rucked in one corner by someone who isn't him that it hits him. He's _happy_. He's _content_. Doing these quotidian things ( _ha_ , he can hear in Kuroko's voice, just a little _hmm_ of thoughtful amusement, unfeigned) is not how he saw his life going - long ago were the days when his sneakers felt like spaceships launching him into orbit, he was the missile and the hoop was the target - but all the same the gap between expectation and reality jars him roughly.

There was time he didn't think happiness could be based on someone else, even based on simple routine. That content could include, well, being regularly slobbered on by an oversized furball that makes moony eyes and that Kagami had recently thought, just a _sliver_ of an idea, might be kind of cute. 

He draws the bath - another thing that has sprung up new, he had always been content with showers before - and fits the lid just in time to hear the key in the door. "I brought cake," Kuroko says as a way of greeting while giving Nigou a nice long scratch behind the ears. "We were lucky the aquarium trip didn't run long. And that I had time to stop by Murasakibara-kun's place."

It is here, in this moment, surrounded by the smells of the electric hotpot sullenly coming to a simmer on the kotatsu in the middle of a colorful plateau of plated vegetables and meats, that Kuroko reaches out to touch his face. "You've changed," he says.

He leans into the touch. Suddenly he knows how to smile. He knows why he's here. He knows what to say. "So've you."

"Touche. I always did think you would go back, though. That you and Aomine-kun would become world-famous basketball stars."

 _That was before I found another reason to stay. And gamble._ "With that squinty-eyed dumbass? We beat him, remember. He'd be the star of, like, a mountain of garbage or something."

"You peeked at my JUMP novels, didn't you."

"They were on the table," Kagami protests.

"Even if they are reference books for Kise's next role, I expected better of you. They were written so junior high school students could read them. Maybe some bright elementary school students. We're going to see a volleyball game next week to flesh out the character some more." That means he's already been invited, already has a ticket, and has already said yes. 

Kagami can't help his smile inching a little wider. "I like the part when the deuteragonist says _With me, you'll be the best_."

Kuroko jabs him in the ribs for old times sake, but all it does is make him laugh. "The hotpot sounds ready," Kuroko points out. Pointedly. He changes his clothes and sits down at the table, waiting, because that is more than what people simply living together do. That is what _partners_ do.

Kagami never hated change, never railed against it. He rolled with the punches and now - look. Somehow he's here and somehow it feels like a better place. Even with the dumb mutt scratching forlornly at the kitchen door.

Kuroko raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you hungry, Kagami-kun?" Knowing he always is.

"Coming, coming."

 _I gambled, and won_ , he thinks, and ladles out soup and noodles for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha so kudos if a) you can tell me which manga they're talking about, and b) who Kise is going to play. And I'm so, so sorry you read all the way through this...unnecessarily cottony...fuzzy...ball of fluff...thing. Yep.


	28. [RuroKen, Sano/Kenshin friendship] 2015.01.20:  My shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanosuke recognizes liars because he is one, and knows Kenshin in particular is a master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so, I dunno if I should call this dark or OOC or what. This kind of sprung from being overworked yet vaguely optimistic due to repeated watchings of [Maroon 5's Sugar MV](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09R8_2nJtjg). I have something for characters who've pigeonholed themselves into feeling inferior, probably also because it seems a lot of people around me don't believe in themselves as much as I believe in them. They should. And I think Sano should too.

20\. My shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me.

 

_I am no killer --_

he says as if it would make a difference. Saying that is like saying the sun isn't yellow or clean water ain't sweet. Saying that is like saying my past was all sunshine and rainbows.

_I am not the man I was --_

as if people actually change. People don't. Their cores are like the contents of coin purses. It don't matter what they jingle or shine, the outsides just fade and fray.

Truth means being kicked in the choking dust, big hands disappearing where they once supported me. I am every disbeliever in the sanctity of authority, because there is no safe place within its influence. You either live cowed under its yoke or throw it off, mock it to its face, sneer at its frivolousness. It's too dangerous to have faith in such a big thing - better to be a filthy liar, no matter how many times rolled in the mud.

That's why I do what I do - I fight and drink and gamble some, because they tell me not to, tell me it'll ruin me. What do they know. You just keep doing what you think you think is right, and watch me take on all those evils myself.

_I am Himura Kenshin --_

he says, but it's a lie, because when his eyes flash and his fingers brush the handle of his sword, he remembers. What it is to be someone else. What it is to be wrong.

What black names mean when their owners are dyed red.

Still there's something about him. Can't put my finger on it. Can't ignore it when it gnaws at me. Doubt smells like an overripe fish when it comes to him. Like fumbling fingers in the dark for something I can't quite figure out. I keep thinking I'll grope and miss what that thing is if I take my eyes away for a second.

_What I protect is the people in front of me --_

he's no saint and it shows in the places he drags me to.

_What I fought for was this new era of peace --_

he's no man of peace while his enemy burns, screaming or crying or laughing, I can't tell. And the two of us only watch, synchronized in our lack of motion.

_You are not cut from the same cloth as those who hire you. You are yourself --_

where does trial even start and end anymore. The foxy-faced lady said my hands will heal fine, but they're useless now. Still, his expression doesn't change as he unwraps the damage. His callouses are lighter in color than mine. Lighter in touch too, since I can't seem to ever hold back from punishment, whether it's being dealt out or dealt to.

His placid, practical silence is mercy of the very highest that drowns out the voices screaming about how I could do this to myself - how I could follow this liar to the death -

But I can't help but believe. Or, well, I could, but then I would be the greater liar. And I can't blind myself that far.

_Are you feeling well, Sano?_

As well as I can without being able to punch things. And looking after kids only armed with my elbows and feet. And staring at the leaky ceiling, waiting for the blanket of sleep to roll over me. But his hands keep coming back to me, tools of his trade. The wandering trade that has stopped to lay down roots.

He thinks as I do, his mind is my mind - who cares about opposing cuts of cloth when it's so dusty the pattern can't be seen anymore.

_You will be well again. Soon._

I feel stronger from the bones outward. Like I don't need knives and swords or guns. Like the steel is in my bones. 

See, now I know even the late night can't take away my faith. It pulses in me, heartbeat steady as I look down at him and see all that could be, the mercy and the idyllic calm and the quiet belief in peace longstanding. In dawn and other lights in dark places.

I am one of these people he believes in.

_Are you planning to go somewhere, Sano? You seem restless._

waiting for his changes, waiting for what, waiting for faith though I didn't know how. I thought I forgot a long time ago. But it's simple after all - so simple an idiot like me can follow it. I just have to say it as many times as he did. Even if it's a lie.

_You're a good guy, Sano._

And my shining dishonesty will be the salvation of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, wow, that was confusing. But kind of to clarify, in the beginning before he met Kenshin, Sano's lie was "I don't believe in the goodness of people". And then after he met Kenshin, his lie is as Kenshin states, "You're a good guy, Sano". 
> 
> So, so sorry.


	29. [RuroKen, SaiSa] 2015.01.11:  if you want to help others heal, love them without an agenda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation to [this really old post here](http://ansibs.livejournal.com/tag/saisa%20fic). There was no reason, no trigger, but today was the day Saitou moved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, somehow I made this happy? It looked pretty bleak before.

11\. If you want to help others heal, love them without an agenda.

 

"Saitou," he said, and the two syllables were as loud as a shot in the dark.

Saitou's eyes snapped open to meet the barest taint of morning on the wooden beams. Somewhere there was the dribble of the water jar, gathering fluid in the garden. And Sanosuke, of course, who had taken to sleeping next to him since two winters ago, when Saitou awoke with his body practically frozen in place. Since then he had been present to stroke the brazier, which he did now.

Finally he could see Sanosuke's face and hands, which reached for cup and water. Saitou was quite well enough to sit up on his own, thank you, but the damn boy just had to scuttle in to help him. "I'm fine," he groused.

"Drink." Sanosuke had become too accustomed to his temper, and he too had become too accustomed to being chivvied around by this foul-mouthed chit, this arrogant sliver of humanity. As he drank, he reflected somewhere along the way, he had also become a maudlin old coot predisposed to talking to himself in his head.

"Get going," Saitou waved him.

"The case will keep. Cases," Sanosuke rebutted. 

Saitou glared at him. "No one, not your anarchist brother, not the arthritic Battousai, not even your dead father taught you to be a lazy bum. Now get off your ass and scram."

The fool had the gall to laugh. "You can't tell me you Aku-Soku-Zan'd every morning and every night, Saitou. I've been here too long to know."

"Then when will you leave?" Saitou bit out, acerbic. It was an oft-asked rhetorical question. He struggled to bring his legs under him, then stand. He didn't wobble, not even a little. He didn't need Sanosuke's shoulder or elbow, proffered as if he was some sort of tittering maiden. Foolish, and belittling. Humbling he actually needed it sometimes. Sanosuke slipped an arm around Saitou's waist anyway to prevent any falls.

It was a particularly bold move that never failed to make Saitou's interest raise its damned head. He was old, dammit. He was old enough so desire shouldn't matter. But that was the problem, really. His desire was not fully carnal; it involved touching, yes, and perhaps some tongue. But that was where it ended into white silence, great big snow drifts of possibility, waiting for some catalyst to plop an ungaily shape upon its perfection.

Sanosuke had said once, with all the fond nostalgia of the young turning middle-aged, "Oh, that's why I love you, Saitou." Said with enough wistfulness, Saitou might have moved then. But when Sanosuke turned around, his eyes stopped Saitou dead. Because that depth of emotion could not possibly be for him. It had to be yearning for some call too long ago to remember clearly. The memory of some dead person.

Among other things, he had learned how to hurt Sanosuke. To refuse his help, voice arch and comments scathing so Sanosuke threw up his hands and said, _Why do I even try!_ He was tempted to do just that, right now as Sanosuke lowered him to the cushion on the floor, then settled the brazier next to him.

More and more these days, however, the urge to snipe back was curbed. It wasn't solely because Sanosuke was there - Sanosuke had been there for ages. Sanosuke had been there when Saitou held him down, watched his muscles bulge with the effort to throw him off. When Saitou might have done something, anything to release the ache in his groin, in his soul to - _to lay claim_ , as if he really was a wolf.

Yes, Sanosuke might have been his. But then Sanosuke might not have discovered Saitou's deepest wounds, his furthest pain, the ones that woke him at the first shavings of dawn rubbed across the black sky. And Saitou might not have healed enough to accept Sanosuke's assistance now without pushing him away, making Sanosuke's choices for him. He still thought Sanosuke might be better off living his own life, unburdened with caring for an old man.

"Saitou?" A hand unhesitatingly cupped his forehead.

Saitou swatted it away. "Don't wear it out, now," he said in the lowest impression of a growl.

Sanosuke only rewarded Saitou with one of his own expressions, mockingly copied. He raised one eyebrow. The amiable quality of his voice, however, was unaffected as he said, "I'll get breakfast, then."

He left Saitou to watch the first fingers of gray-hazy blue tiptoe onto the horizon. Still gray, as Sanosuke divided their portions and they ate. The day would hardly lighten, then, while Sanosuke was away, leaving Saitou brooding, stewing in his own thoughts. But Saitou liked this contrary weather, liked the way the drizzle filled the water jar, and the crunch of Sanosuke's boots and annoyed muttering up the gravel path that heralded his return home. 

He tried to split the halves of reasons evenly in his mind, about what had mellowed him out so, retirement and the idiotic roosterhead that had come to live under his roof. But as always it came out lopsided.

"You gonna be alright for the dishes?"

"My legs are what stopped working, not my hands, you vile brat."

Sanosuke's lips twitched, and his eyes smiled where his mouth didn't. "I'll be off, then."

"Wait." What was he saying? This was not the time - there was _no_ time for this. The job Saitou had given him - Sanosuke's responsibilities - Sanosuke's own desire to save others as he had been saved once - those mattered. Not the impulses of one aged man, withered and whittled down in dotage.

But Saitou was also not the type to step back once he had made the first advance. "Come here," he commanded, and obediently his student stepped forward. "Bend down. There. Now, turn a little to the side."

He probably thought he had a grain of rice stuck somewhere, Saitou thought. And this was the very last straw; he could still turn back and say like he had so many times before, _Nevermind. Forget it._

He was as pigheaded as Sanosuke. That was why they fought so often. Because neither refused to give ground, because that was their inalienable propensity for conflict. But whereas he had finesse, Sanosuke had an abraded roughness, bruise-colored and charred, and unappealing at first.

Until abruptly, Saitou awoke in the night to find he had an anchor in his corner. Weighing him down, soaking up his insults, spitting back fire. And that patient treatment made him wonder when Sanosuke would leave for greener pastures. Leave him a husk of what he had been.

It had never happened, and suddenly Saitou was sure it never would.

He studied the bow of Sanosuke's mouth. It had been a long time since he imagined kissing it, and perhaps that was why he missed. He hit the pointed end of it instead, where it started to dip into a laugh line.

Sanosuke jerked back a little. "What was that?" he asked. He really didn't know.

"That was a kiss."

"A kiss? For me?" He _really_ didn't understand by now? Fool, magnified by ten. And Saitou, by a thousand.

Saitou turned back to the table. Even if by some divine force the tatami were to swallow him home, he couldn't be sure if he would ever outlive the shame. "Yes. Why else would I be touching your idiotic face. Unless I hit it with my fist, if you don't get going."

"Wait, wait. You just kissed me and you're just gonna - no. You can't do this, Saitou." A thump next to him meant Sanosuke got down on his knees to look him in the eye. The foolish boy took a deep breath. "I'm not gonna let you sweep this under the rug. We have to talk."

Saitou reserved his coldest glare for times like this. "If you are quite finished, you are going to be late -"

"I mean, our first kiss and that's all you can do? Wow, Saitou. Way to disappoint."

He blinked, but as expected, Saitou's copied expression of severe disapproval made Sanosuke's face comically long. Its serious mien was broken by the rebellious, eager twinkle in Sanosuke's eyes. 

Saitou pointedly stared in a disinterested fashion back at him. "Oh?" he intoned with just the right amount of disdain. "And what exactly were you expecting?"

Here Sanosuke shrugged in a distinctly un-Saitou-ish manner. "Well, some ass-groping for starters. I know you've had your eye on that. And maybe tongue, at least some tongue. And maybe some knocking over and destroying things in our enthusiasm -"

Sanosuke's mouth was warm, warm like when he slept close enough to share the brazier. His nose poked Saitou's cheek. He melted at once with an encouraging sound. His fingers patted for Saitou's hand, for his arm, to clutch and lean in. He was clumsy and untried, but his love bowled Saitou head over heels. Pushing the boundaries, always reaching above himself. Shamelessly hogging whatever he could.

He only relinquished Saitou long enough to grind down on his thigh, groaning. "Saitou," the name seemed dragged from his lungs. "You bastard, you made me think I was just imagining things, dammit, fucking Saitou."

"I said don't wear it out," Saitou snapped back breathlessly. His fingers were tight on Sanosuke's hips, and his eyes feasted hungrily on Sanosuke's enthusiasm. "Now get up. Or you really will be late."

"Making me late for the job you gave me, that's -" Sanosuke bonelessly draped himself over Saitou in a way that made him exceptionally hot and itchy. Itch to reach back and squeeze Sanosuke's behind, that is. "That's against the law. Getting in the way of a policeman's work."

"You're undercover."

" 'm police," Sanosuke protested. He didn't move, only spasmed when Saitou jabbed his ribs in a particularly ticklish spot. "Hands up. Gonna arrest ya."

He swatted that tempting behind in silent promise. "Get going, lump." Sanosuke got up with a heartfelt groan. "At least the rain should cool you down before you get there. If I hear anything about inappropriate behavior from the Chief -"

"- you'll assign me ten thousand repetitions of some move. Whatever. At least now I know you were watching me for another reason." He smirked, and winked, which shouldn't have been anything but irritating, but instead Saitou tamped down on a surge of fondness that threatened to swamp him.

"You are an irredeeemable heathen."

"And you're a boring hardass with a hard- _on_ for sadistic pleasure. Seriously, why did you wait so long? You like being a pervert more than you like getting some actual action?"

"I thought I was the one imagining things."

Sanosuke raised that damned eyebrow again. "And what changed your mind today of all days?"

There was no reason. No particular mood, no particular happening. Just the familiar point of Sanosuke's nose, slashing a shadow across his smile. The crinkle of his eyes, little webbed feet under rounded brows. The careful way he settled Saitou on the floor, as if he was something to be tender to, contrary to his rough nature.

He didn't have an answer, so he didn't reply to the question. Instead he said quietly, "I love you, Sanosuke. I have loved you for a very long time."

Sanosuke reached out as if helpless to resist the urge to touch. His thumb, burnished with callouses, seared against Saitou's forehead like a brand. "Then why didn't you say anything?" he repeated, infinitely sadder and forlorn. "You couldn't have missed I love you too. That I wouldn't stay for anyone else but you." He was hurt, Saitou realized. Hurt because of silence. "Don't you trust me?"

Saitou had to shut his eyes for a second. "Of course I do. But I could not trust myself not to ruin you."

Sanosuke crumpled back in front of him, pupils boring into him. "You have ruined me," he retorted hotly. He grabbed Saitou's shoulders and shook him once. "You've ruined me for life. I can't see anything in the store without thinking of you. And I can't see anyone in the crowd without looking for you. Everyone I meet comes up short, because they're not you. What is that but total ruination?"

"How should I know what goes on in that rooster brain of yours."

Sanosuke laughed wetly and bowed his head. "Fuck you, bastard."

"Would you like to?"

"Think that's a bit acrobatic, ya old wolf."

Saitou's hand trembled a little at his side, but Sanosuke caught the movement. He lifted it and pressed it to his cheek. "We will make do. As we always do," Saitou reminded him. It was all the lukewarm comfort that Saitou could possibly summon at the moment. Summing up all the nights he had pretended to sleep and actually stretched his senses to the next room, to feel the choppy spikes of Sanosuke's consciousness smooth into waves of slumber.

"Ain't that the fucking truth." There was an underlying resignation in there somewhere.

"Do you know the same is for me, that I would never leave you?" He lifted Sanosuke's chin to face him. He had long ago memorized the exact shade of Sanosuke's eyes, but he could never find the right description for them. "You must know, now I never will."

Sanosuke took that in for a moment, and then crushed Saitou into his chest. He still held that sense of indomitable power, barely kept in check. Now his arms communicated all of his own pain and wounds, ones Saitou had inadvertently caused by putting him in the line of fire, ones Saitou had bound with bandages. Ones he could not see, could not touch, but were now halved, because they were shared.

"You fucking bastard," was all Sanosuke said.

"As long as I'm the only bastard you're fucking."

The hug tightened so Saitou's bones creaked. "Better be ready when I get back home, cricketbrain. I'm gonna wipe you out."

There could not possibly be any place safer in the world than in Sanosuke's arms, wearing the scent of Saitou's own tea and soba on his clothes. Saitou let himself relish the sensation a second more, just another second longer. "Give it your best shot."

He knew, like the long history of everything else Sanosuke did for him, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too detailed? Too impossible? Too mushy? Let's go with too mushy.


	30. [KnB, HimuKaga, GoM/Kagami] 2015.02.09:  he floated in the hospital womb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the hardest thing sometimes to speak up, because silence is so comfortable, because the unfamiliar is so intimidating. But Kagami was never the type to just let things flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike Kagami, I haven't yet learned how to say this ending. Perhaps someday, if we let ourselves trust, if everyone is a good human being, we'll all learn how to be a better us.
> 
> (Ignore my philosophical ramblings, please.)

9\. he floated in his hospital womb

Kagami had a thing for the word _No_.

When his mother scolded him for eating raw cookie dough straight out of the bowl, she told him _No_ through her laughter. A year later she screamed _No_ repeatedly at his father while he listened at the door and wondered what was happening. Then he found out _No_ meant _No, Tai-chan, you can't come with me_ , and the last brush of her hand disentangling his grip on her dress was the singlemost painful goodbye he had ever experienced in his life. Until his father said _No, not this Saturday, I've got a meeting_ , and the idea of family became alien and remote, like distant circling planets.

But he did learn that word early, and it helped, sometimes.

In all of its permutations: _nah_ when a girl friend wanted him to go see a chick flick at the movies because she didn't want to go alone; _naw_ when people at the mall taking surveys asked if he was a college student. _Nuh-uh_ when Alex held up a black thing that was more holes than sweater for him to try.

 _No_ he thought in disbelief when Himuro's fist connected with his face. And _no_ , the sweet relief as he got on the plane and still had his ring, still had that unbroken, unfulfilled promise that he would never have to own up to.

It showed how much he knew, about God, about how whoever was up there just loved to have a good laugh at him.

After the Winter Cup, when Himuro nudged hard against his shoulder, like he used to, and somehow they were holding hands, Kagami tried to smile as he let go. Himuro's grin faded like the last of spilled ice tea onto a hot California sidewalk, and for a moment they just looked at each other, Himuro willing this not to be real, Kagami trying not to be sorry.

_I can't, Tats. I just can't._

Himuro swallowed thickly and tried to smile back. The result was something lightyears away from _okay_. _It's alright, Tai. Just tell me it isn't somebody else?_

_Nobody._

He wasn't quite lying. There wasn't anybody, not officially. And what was between him and Kuroko was too nebulous, too amorphous to be labeled as anything concrete. But there was a sense of _mine_ and _yours_ from the Generation of Miracles; there was a feeling of _that pair_ from his own teammates. Hope sprouted here and there, persistent weeds Kagami had no hope of stamping out completely.

It didn't matter if they had come this close so that Kagami had seen the reflection of his own anxious face in Kuroko's eyes and stood, because as petty as it was Kuroko couldn't reach him at his tallest. And what was hope anyway, when everything they did in the first year was for Aomine?

He was so sick of treading water, but no matter how he tried, Kuroko wilted all of the things he thought were armor, nibbled at the foundations of what he believed. All these little things, like falling asleep curled up on Kagami's couch, or gently scrubbing Kagami's hair dry with a towel. The gleam in his eyes as he watched the ball. The half smile Kagami received when he looked backward after sinking a shot.

He was hyper aware of his own touch, to not let it linger. They were just bros like when he and Tatsuya were brats. They had to be that.

Until one day, no particular day on the calendar, Kuroko called him for a captain-vice captain meeting and over a table overflowing with possible new plays, kissed him. Kissed Kagami slow and lingering, savoring some fine taste and willing it not to go, _oh please don't go._

Kagami would never be the first to let go, not as long as Kuroko need him. He smiled. _But this has to stop_ , he told Kuroko, who looked like he was about to cry. _I can't, Kuroko. I can't. No, no, just no._

He had treaded water until now with his head barely above, having seen what was waiting on the surface. Kise, who was so bright Kagami couldn't believe Kuroko passed him over for a light, since that was exactly what Kise was. Midorima, who was knife-precise and sharp, yet endearingly awkward and unsettlingly thoughtful at times.

And Aomine, who Kagami could never turn down, who Kagami could stare at for hours just watching him play. Watching these interlopers lounge around his house, challenge him at video games, hold out bags of groceries with mute pleas to be fed. Snuggling like puppies under his kotatsu. He reminded himself _No_ every time it got to winter, which meant Kise's adorable sniffling from seasonal allergies. He reminded himself _No_ every time he saw Kuroko watching the others play with Nigou, all of them smiling and comfortable in the space that was just supposed to be his alone.

 _What are you doing here_ , he wanted to ask. There were times when he watched himself, completely detached, as he went through the stages of washing love in the kitchen sink, cooking it to perfection, watching it be consumed, and then repeating the cycle again with an endless stack of ingredients. The best laughter in the house didn't come from him or from his father who always broke his promises. It could never come from broken people.

Kise stayed behind one night to help clean up, and smooched him noisily on the cheek when Kagami said he would pack up the leftovers for him to take home (he said _No_ ). Midorima slipped one taped hand into his when Kagami moaned he would never get science, that school was just an institution of underaged torture, and when Kagami froze, he squeezed once and then excused himself to go to the kitchen to refill the teapot (he said _No_ afterwards). He was ready for Aomine, so when he leaned in he caught Kagami's cheek instead of his lips.

(He said _No, no, no_ with a smile.)

(It was a weak ass smile, and the nights before they had games, before he saw them again, he would replay those moments in his head on repeat and let hope actually bloom illusory flowers, colorful blossoms in impossible shades.)

He had let go of hope by the time he reached college, and thought another four years back in America would kill it completely. It didn't, because when Kuroko met him at the airport and smiled, he barely remembered to let go first before he was let go. Scented danger, the worst kind, the kind that could tear him apart.

They didn't even make it to the first night - by the first afternoon, Kuroko had crumpled his self-restraint like so much wet tissue paper and fucked him five ways through Kagami's jetlag, then settled comfortably onto Kagami like he was the world's most comfortable armchair. To be sure, they were in very good position to watch TV, which they did until Kuroko's eyes went wicked while his mouth never moved until it shattered Kagami apart by sucking his brains out.

He woke the next morning saying _No_ like a mantra in his head, and before Kuroko could lean up to kiss him at the kitchen counter, he held Kuroko's head in place with one hand and kissed the sunburst of his hair. He hoped his smile was properly apologetic. He hoped he wouldn't have to say anything, not like Kuroko didn't know anything about him anyway, not that Kuroko couldn't tell how he felt with a single glance. But instead of closing off Kuroko went - worried, or scheming somehow, but at least he backed off.

And then somehow the others trickled in, or tricked their way in the door, so a lot of the time Murasakibara was at the stove and Akashi was playing himself over a shogi board at the dining table and Midorima was telling him how it was better for the human body to sit eating down, that it wasn't healthy to just chow something down over the sink. Kise whose head dropped to his shoulder because he was so, so tired from nonstop modeling gigs ten minutes into the movie. Aomine who always looked like he was going to reach out and reel Kagami in, but stopped himself at the last moment with a confused frown.

He let Kise stay over one night and frot between Kagami's naked thighs, slickened with lube. He let Aomine kiss him behind a club, jerk off the two of them together in one hand, and then kiss him again as if he was trying to imprint himself onto Kagami like a full body stamp against the wall. He let Midorima fuss some more over his lack of kanji, and finger him until orgasm as a reward for getting a part-time job at the local fire station. He let Akashi educate him about ropes and blindfolds and spend hours aching, vibrating for the next touch, and only coming back down to Earth and sleep when the blindfold came off to reveal Akashi's approval.

(He repeated _No_ , and brushed off their hands when they clung white and tight and numb and asked _Why_. He brushed them aside because _No, you can't go where I'm going, sorry_.)

He knew now that this wouldn't get old, even if all he was left with in the end was a handful of memories to take out and look at sometimes. He didn't even remember his own mother's face. He hadn't been told when she died; his father had mentioned it offhand, that she had passed from cancer an ocean away, married to another man. Somewhere out there was either a half-brother or sister. Somewhere out there floated Kagami's emotions, because the only thing that still sparked him was basketball, and everything else was just the loose earth that hid an earthquake faultline that he should probably back away from.

It wasn't until he woke up from floating in the hospital womb that he realized again waiting wouldn't do anything when he was this far down, dragged under, drugged to the gills. Later they told him he broke his body in a dozen places and had to do rehab for a month.

But what killed him was seeing Akashi through the cracks of his eyelids, and feeling pale fingers trailing through his hair. A kiss Akashi didn't think anyone can see, because Kagami wasn't supposed to be awake, a kiss pressed gently and firmly and possessively in the center of Kagami's forehead. He tried to croak _No_ to the gentle way Kuroko rotated his feet and toes and wrists, to Aomine sneaking Maji Burger into the hospital, to Midorima taking his pulse as they mutely stared at each other. Everyone knew it wasn't right to speak. Everyone except for Kagami, who saw them, had held them, and the touch now galvanized him to speech.

The word pulsed behind his teeth as Murasakibara drove him back home. And once he was there, so were the rest of them, right where he left them. They had waited for him, though he had been waiting more to leave before they could leave them. Four whole years. A little more than. And perhaps he was ready, they were all old enough, to catch themselves before something cut too deep. Maybe things would be better this time.

"I -" he started, seeing them in their places in his house, on his sofa, eating his food. He had been taking care of them for so long, maybe he could trust them to take care of him too sometimes. So many uncertainties. But he had never been the type to sit back and let good things happen to him.

They looked up at him, expectant and willing, and that was how Kagami Taiga learned to say _Yes_.


	31. [KnB, AkaKaga] 2015.07.01: Authority carries the weight of an age pressing down on life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Premise set a few years in the future - GoM + Kagami on the same time. Established AkaKaga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While trying to rewrite the last chapter of "1-800":
> 
> Me: WHY are you just NOT cooperating, Akashi?!
> 
> Akashi: Because I am the Emperor and I will show you. That you are not in charge. Starting with this fic.
> 
> Me: #$)*#$(@&$!!!!
> 
> (Oh well, have some AkaKaga mush instead.)

_Since I always win, I'm always right_ are your first words.

 _Know your place_ you added, and sent him tumbling down.

But words are not enough to explain what he's done for you. All of these years - he sweated beside you, he worked his ass off. And then he joined you with his silent, smiling shadow - and once again everyone's fists drew a star together with their arms as the points, plus one more.

Kagami's hands are always warm, even in the winter. Like the breath that convulsed in the air, twisting above your head as he huffed on your hands. Like the bump of his shoulder, a reminder of _Don't be so serious; it's not all about you_. And the moment he looked at you, just looked, and once your eyes locked they couldn't turn away, because Kagami was looking through you, and letting you look through him.

The depth of emotion he shows has always been startlingly honest - too true, if you had to describe it. But you will never tell anyone, not even to his secret shadow, of the truths he uttered in your bed, in that space where you let him be taller than you, just for a little while, and keep you in a safe place, as if safety could be defined by the swell of emotion and not numbers.

Still he has always followed your instructions faithfully. To not speak words; to always listen. You don't flap your mouth uselessly for your own benefit. You don't say anything you don't mean to say.

That power over him chafes now. His eyes are once again that truth-telling, truth-seeking gaze. But now you cannot answer yes. Now you cannot answer the way he wants, in a touch, a hug, a lump of humanity balled against his front. Everyone wants to be strong for some reason. Everyone wants to feel useful, like he felt useful when he sucked the weight of expectations from your shoulders with constellations of biting kisses down the length of your back.

His knee trembles, shakes uncontrollably, and while he may never forgive you, you would never forgive yourself if he collapsed on the paint. For God's sake, his family is in the stands, you can feel their apprehensive glares aimed towards you.

Authority has ever carried the weight of age, pressing down on life.

"Daiki," is all you have to say. And Kagami's eyes fill with betrayal and humiliation.

 _Remember the lessons you gave me_ , you urge silently, and he doesn't quite nod. His shadow is the one who rubs his shoulder, touches his hands, grips the knee so it stops trembling. _Remember what you live for._

 _To see another day_. His head comes up. He is once again the proud predator, disguised as a house tabby when he is off the clock. _To live to fight again with you._

You barely resist the urge to reach out and kiss him the way you want the whole world to see - that this one is yours, and you will not be relinquishing him. How does he make the burden slip away without a single touch? Ah, but his eyes - they rake over you, drinking you in, half-concern and half-desire - your blood sings, auscultates in turn, the volume so loud it almost hurts.

 _Let me show you how it's done_ , you promise to him, but it isn't enough. You long to show him in a way he'll recognize, a way he can reciprocate -

\- your hand makes a fist before you know it. And before you can take it back, his knuckles bump back, hard.

"Then show me what you got, Sei," he challenges, arch, rough, greedy for proof. Picking and choosing his disobediences so carefully - like now, when you cannot deny him vocalization, especially not the last syllable, which you _need_.

You arch an eyebrow in return. "I'll be going, then." [1]

"And then you'll come back." [2]

You expect so, it is only one game after all. A scant hour of separation. Still, you know what he means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] _Ittekimasu_ / _Itte kuru wa_ : the phrase for when you leave the house.
> 
> [2] _Itterasshai_ : something close to "come back safely" or "come back soon", the phrase you say when someone is leaving the house (the answer to _ittekimasu_ ).
> 
> (I'm so sorry I used to get back into the habit of writing, Akashi. Please don't kill me with scissors.)


	32. [RK, SaiKen, KenSano, AoKen, HikoKen] 2015.07.02: Falsehood is so easy, truth so difficult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is the calm in the storm, yes, his future, his happy ending. But Kenshin is also a man who has lived through, and embraces, the storm. Because this is what his peace brings.
> 
> (Or the one where Kenshin is a hedonist who has four secret boyfriends and a wife.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I won't even lie. It was for the suggestion of porn. Also, nothing will convince me that Kenshin is NOT a fandom bicycle; he's really just too easy.

She cocks her head a little to the side, bemused. "Why, were you expecting someone else?"

No, you weren't. Not the pointed face of a canine. You thought fox at first, but it was nothing so sweet. It was a wolf with jaws that could break you, limbs that could twist you, eyes that could beguile you, make you wish for more. You can run but he will always catch you, a decade's chase, with his black hair falling over you, his kisses not anything so sweet as to be called that. Sometimes in the throes you think he will reach over and cut you apart for good, that it is as Shishio said, to turn back the clock and rebirth a sliver of those times when blood was not gray. Blood was black and white.

_Black on white._ In the snow the two of your trudged, you with your half-frozen bucket of tofu, him with his sack of rice. You laughed at something he said, and it was free, like he has always been free, and you told him how you envied that freedom. You are too old to believe you have no responsibilities to anyone but yourself.

He reminds you, rushing forward to cup your face. You cannot deny his young hands, his eager ardor that strip away the cloth you both pretend is armor. But no, your armor is your scars, of which you have many. He traces them in the light of a single flickering candle, questions the making, sympathizes the necessity, gives amorous alms to some undeserving idol. Until they too are reddened like the skin around them, and you are once again returned to zero and rebirth.

_Rebirth._ The quiet hush of summer in the ancient capital after blood runs clean in streets, soot grows to moss, homes and existences built taller than before. In this fade, your auras reach out, twine, and settle. There is no one so disciplined, no one so unerringly certain in himself. He is the river temporarily diverted; as steady as June plum rains that bruise the Aoiya's rooftops in silver and white. When she is not present, you do more than spar - you close in on each other, dewdrop to waterfall, drizzle to downpour. To the drumming of water on wood and ceramic, you forget the sheets to be washed, the dirty sandals in the entranceway, the pots inscribed with the drying remains of past meals. There is only his clean scent, the coldest, mustiest dash of sorrow below his steely demeanor. He bares his teeth when he comes in you, he whispers gut-lurching epithets of challenge and spilt bodies (mainly yours) couched in tones of utmost love. No one else knows. No one else has to know.

_No one._ Save the one that takes one look and knows all. Had taken a young boy and molded you, however imperfectly, in his own image. Your master is truly that, a master who had always known what you want, and has never physically stopped you from going after it. He answers your selfishness like the slap and soothe of a parent, all save one kind - then his reply levels you completely, overwhelms you. He has always been the strongest, the canniest, the deepest - you are guilty, and apologetic, because his image is so, so imperfect.

He cares not. He only cares for your mouth that speaks his words, your body that answers from your core a thousand times, _Yes_.

She looks a little worried now, a hand on the stomach. Perhaps she suspects. Or perhaps the baby is kicking again.

Either way, the right path is open to you, you in the open door, you with the bucket on your arm and the vegetable basket in the other. The perfect picture of innocence - but oh, how easy falsehoods come again and again, and truth so difficult.

"No," you smile, and it is real as far as she can tell. "No one else at all."


	33. [KnB, GOM+Kagami, Akashi-centric] 2016.01.12: they always name themselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new year changes nothing, not Akashi's convictions, not his beliefs. The only thing he can recall is, surely he is going the right way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hatsumode, or the first shrine visit of the year, is a custom many Japanese people follow to pray for good luck for the rest of the year. See here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hatsum%C5%8Dde . 
> 
> This is a terrible piece after being out of the writing circuit for so long...but until I pound out Akashi's part in the 1-800 series, please accept this as a temporary stopgap...
> 
> Also contains a bunch of other 31_day themes: 1/9, "Sometimes people can learn a lot about each other just by sitting in silence"; 1/14, "Half the trouble in the world comes from people asking 'What have I achieved?' rather than 'What have I enjoyed?'"; 1/15, "You should think with your heart".

First the heat, then the cold - the temperature prickles his cheeks and the exposed tips of his fingers. He considers blowing on them like Kise is madly doing in between his whining and shivering, or finding a convenient nearby pocket to stuff them into like Kuroko has not-so-subtly slipped into Kagami's coat. In the end he tucks them neatly under the bottom hem of his jacket. Not the most efficient solution, but clad with a sweater underneath, it doesn't look too casual, and is just enough.

Ironic that the past year is only reflected when it is over. Half the trouble in the world comes from people asking "What have I achieved?" rather than "What have I enjoyed?". Akashi is no exception; shuffling in the herd of other wool-clad forms, he supposes each little step is a little further away from the sleepless nights of study, the correspondence of food to mouth turned tasteless by exhaustion, the hoarding of every last scrap of information gleaned as if it might magically turn into the key to the future. But instead maybe he should have thought more of curling into the space under Murasakibara's arm, or testing the endless blends of tea at the tea shop with Kagami. Even reading the minute swiftness of Aomine's body in arched flight, and the tremble of excitement it gave him to remember it was his to command, if he said the word.

He said it too little last year. But he will give into the urge more from now on.

 _Your father might tell you to think with your brain, and it's not a bad idea. But I think you should think with your heart_ , he dimly recalls reading recently, one night when the textbooks swam into blurred whirlpools of dizzying text. Had it been a night with three cups of tea, or God forbid, a cup of coffee? Either way his mother's diary always holds such gems at just the right time to convince him to sit back, close his eyes, and dream.

They always name themselves - the basketball star, the writer renown, the far-flung astronaut, the clever shogi master, the violinist that drove listeners to tears. He knows his chosen family - raucous, bold, recklessly talented, generous, genuinely affectionate, so far removed from Akashi's rational choices - would wholeheartedly support him, whatever he chooses to learn, whatever job he chooses to do. He could be a poor artist. He could be a rich online poker player. He could shape the gliding strokes of calligraphy until they gently prised the bloodstained brush from his hands, he could whisk a thousand cups of tea and they would eagerly hold out their cups for more. Watching them gamboling, laughing, touching each other as if they are meant to do so - this is the one thing he always prays to remain intact for one more year. Dare he pray more ambitiously this time for it to last forever?

He casts the coin in, claps twice, bows to the God or Gods above as his mind clears, rolls back the clustering, unnecessary surface thoughts. Sometimes people can learn a lot about each other just by sitting in silence - and right now, he imagines reaching out wordlessly to feel the shape of divinity, to gauge the fevered pitch of worldly desires that pulses the temple air tonight. Cold air spikes his sinuses; his fingertips have almost turned to ice in front of his face. The others should have gone on without him, most likely to wait at the exit, more than ready to browse the booming food stalls for a midnight snack.

But he has not finished his communion yet. It drags on and on, his list of wishes - more like demands - and the fervency he spells them out with. _I want Ryouta to get that part in the movie he wants_ , he enunciates each word clearly. _And for Daiki and Taiga not to depend on their basketball rankings to stay in school anymore. I want more chances to share and talk about books with Tetsuya this year. I want to do them proud - I want them to hold me close with even a smidgeon of the desperation they hold onto each other with - I want to be sure of every angle of this love, because surely, I can want for nothing more._

It is a lie - there is no end to human greed - but finally he feels he can lift his head to regard the regalia on display, the statue that stares over the visitors' heads (benignly? sternly? distantly? he holds fast and defiant under its gaze), the shine of polished fruits and offerings, and sigh a sigh full of uncertain hope.

It puffs into a cloud of white steam that billows back towards him as he turns to find five abnormally tall shadows and one short, much more efficient shadow-like shadow, hunched awkwardly like an island of pines being passed by the river of people. Except for Aomine, whose indignant scowl and posture doesn't seem to deter the old lady scolding him; in fact it seems to be egging her on.

As soon as he comes within reach, Kagami snags him and pulls him into the middle of their huddle. He remains there as they shuffle to the exit, and then again Kagami nudges him into the seat next to him. Unceremoniously he seizes Akashi's hands in both of his own -

\- and blows on them. He is so fully focused on the task he does not realize Akashi is staring, that Akashi registers Kagami is rarely more studious outside of food and basketball than he is right now, and that the prickle of heat emanates from more than Akashi's fingers. Thankfully his suddenly rosy apple-cheeks can be attributed to the cold just as easily.

A cool hand reaches for his forehead as his hands are still captured and thus unable to avoid it. "You should have brought your hat," Midorima says, more parts concerned than condescending. He then sets down his other armful of oshiruko cans, as well as his oversized rubber duck with devil horns.

Kagami gives the cans a glance. "You leave any cans in there for the rest of the visitors?"

"They can make their own at home."

" _We_ also have some at home."

"There is no such thing as an occasion where it is inappropriate to drink oshiruko," is Midorima's final pronouncement - met by Kagami's scoff and belligerent thievery of one can. Akashi surprises them all with a huff of laughter as he takes a can for himself. Why not be a plebian for once? He rubs the heated metal surface across his cheeks until the burn outstrips his embarrassment.

When he looks up again, he finds the concern has ratcheted up several more notches. "Are you okay? How do you feel?" Kagami's hands, stripped of their gloves, cradle his cheeks carefully. His worry once again leave sunburned streaks across Akashi's face despite the late (early?) hour, but he can't find it in him to be remoseful or ashamed at all.

He smiles, and knows it is real by the way Kagami's hands cup his cheeks even more tenderly, chin dipping down to gaze squarely eye-to-eye. Waiting. But he doesn't really need to hear what he already knows. And Akashi doesn't have to announce his intentions to the rest of the table or the world - just to himself, and maybe to the Gods.

"I feel warm," he answers. His blessed, honest truth.


	34. [KnB, AoKise] 2017.05.01: but the mirror disagreed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day like any other day. A date like any other date.
> 
> (It's okay, Kise, _just breathe._ )

01\. but the mirror disagreed

One little glance, and he couldn't help but preen a little. From his earring all the way down to his fitted pants - he couldn't help but tell his reflection, "You look _fantastic_."

And he did. His hair was slicked back in that elegantly-mussed kind of way, his brand-new shirt and tie were both shades of blue that complemented his complexion, and his ass was adorably showcased just barely this side of appropriate-yet-perky. He had gone for a manicure just earlier today, and on his fourth finger sat his promise ring, newly polished to a fine shine. He wore the nice shoes, a tan suede in the same tone as his jacket, and if color families could sing in harmony, these certainly would be. It was an outfit enough to blow anybody's mind. Only maybe...maybe the mirror disagreed, just a little bit.

...maybe the tie could use a little more pattern? He had a cobalt-ish one with subtle stripes, on the thin side. But right at the bottom there was a decal of the brand name in the background, but maybe it wouldn't jive too badly with the rest of the colors...

He changed it, real quick, just in case. Still fantastic, sure, but maybe the first one was better after all, since the logo did snag the eye after all. But was it a good snag or a bad snag? Fifteen years of modeling and his head just couldn't wrap around this stuff right -

\- how about one that matched the jacket, then? Off-white with a repeated pattern of tiny diamonds - too busy. His regular fallback, the solid midnight blue - too plain. Anything warm-colored was too flashy. And all of his other white or black ones had stripes or squares or other patterns that made way too big a statement. He remembered what his old agent had told him on his first day on the job:

_"Don't let the clothes wear you."_

Goddammit, he was trying!

Stumped, he turned back to his closet. Suddenly his oh-so-brilliant picks, chosen for ultimate classiness and head-turning _wow_ factor, seemed drab and out of date. He had other fallbacks that he knew Aomine liked - the black silk shirt, while tacky as can be with the vague silhouette of a panther on the back, picked out in fancy embroidery, was probably the only piece of clothing from Kise's closet that Aomine would actually pause to drape carefully over the nearest piece of furniture. Surely a thorough comb of his closet would unearth something that matched that piece -

Abruptly the door to his bedroom jerked open. Kise groped for the nearest thing - his smartphone, which would have been a very bad choice - and drew back his arm to throw, but it was only the catalyst to his latest mental breakdown.

"Whoa! Don't throw that thing at me!"

Kise was already putting it back on his desk. "Well, don't scare me like that! I didn't even hear you come in!"

"I pressed the doorbell five times -" which really meant two "- and you didn't answer, so I tried the knob. You know, I understand if you want to make it easier for your ex-teammates to do their walk of shame, but leaving your door unlocked probably isn't the way to do it. That's just asking for a burglar."

"What kind of burglar would get past the front door, the doorman, and then the cardkey elevator?" There was no helping it now. If it did turn out he was underdressed, Kise would just have to hope that his razor-sharp shirt creases could actually cut through something so he could start a distraction while he jumped into the hotel fountain to drown himself. His sister would understand; as a fashion model herself, they had pinky-sworn in elementary school to _die than be badly dressed_.

"I dunno, a smart one? What happened after you texted me, anyway?"

"Oh, well, that's the weird part. Morioka-sempai kept apologizing until Hina-chan finally said that he could buy her breakfast. But neither of them could find all of their clothes, so sempai had to borrow boxers and a shirt, and I donated Nee-chan's old booty shorts to Hina-chan so she could wear them over her stockings. Last time I checked, their third date is next Friday."

Aomine grumbled a little about the shorts - the only other piece of clothing Aomine could actually be depended on to be careful about - but it was an expression of grudging understanding. On the subject of putting ladies first, he (and the rest of the Teikou regulars) had altogether too much practice fending off people interested in Momoi, and thus had many firsthand lessons on how to not be seen as a _just a walking dick_.

"So, you never said - was the walk of shame actually a _walk of shame_ this time?"

Kise smirked, even as tried the three ties on again in quick succession. "Nope."

Aomine threw up his hands, grinning incredulously despite himself. "You've gotta be kidding me. Even after he singled her out, she enthusiastically said yes, and you basically tucked them into bed yourself?"

"There was no bed-tucking," Kise huffed. "I called them a cab! And I trusted they would see themselves out to sempai's place while I showered! How was I to know they were going to pass out in Nee-chan's room!"

There - that was a look that made Kise's insides wobble. And it was doubly potent since it had been him that put open-faced gleeful laughter on Aomine's face.

"Lookit you, all grown up. What a responsible kouhai... _in a suit_..." Abruptly Aomine's eyes grew large and horrified.

Luckily, Kise had predicted this. "Yours is on the door, doofus."

Aomine blew out a sigh of relief at the sight of his own suit in its dry-cleaning bag. "Oh man, I totally forgot. Oh - wait, the reservations -"

"I changed it to six-thirty because I knew you wouldn't finish on time. If it wasn't for Kurokocchi, you and Kagamicchi would be at it until midnight."

The way Aomine ruefully scrubbed his fingernails against his scalp, exasperated by his own lack of attention to detail, was as endearing as it was the first time Kise saw it all those years ago. "Damn," Aomine swore in English quietly, a pickup phrase from his best rival. "You really are the better side of me."

Now, that wouldn't do. Kise crossed the room in two strides to cup Aomine's face down. And damn him anyway, for scrounging up another seven centimeters from his genome - with the exception of Murasakibara, he and Kagami both towered over everyone else now.

(Not that it mattered, when all three of them were still susceptible to Ankle Breaks.)

"Don't sell yourself short, Ahomine." Kise snickered at the V that formed between blue brows at the nickname. "You're no slouch for coming up with the idea in the first place."

"I was just copying the two idiots." It said a lot when Kise knew which two idiots were being referred to just by the tone.

"Hey, I know better than to diss a good copy."

"That's cuz you're the best," Aomine snorted, and closed the last centimeter between them. Close-mouthed and firm, unhurried, lingering. It seemed like yesterday since it seemed impossible to get all the way to the bedroom with any clothes still hanging off of their bodies.

"Actually the best, or just the other-other best?" he teases.

"The actual best, if I remember correctly. But you're welcome to remind me how tonight."

_I intend to_ , he thought to himself. Sure, they had borrowed the idea of bimonthly dinners from Kagami and Kuroko. But Aomine was unaware of just how the other pair's engagement had gone down, as it was totally out of his realm of immediate interest; seeing Aomine was cut much from the same cloth as Kagami, Kise took a leaf out of Kuroko's book and would be attaching the ring to food tonight in a way that did not lead to some hundred-thousand yens' worth of indigestion.

"I'm done!" Aomine announced, strolling back into the room. "Does it look okay?"

Kise shook his head, at a loss at how unfairly easy Aomine made it look to pull of, well, _anything_. "You look disgustingly attractive, you ganguro bastard."

In retaliation, Aomine threw his arm around Kise's shoulders, leaning all of his weight downwards until Kise mock-staggered. "I'm _your_ ganguro bastard," he sneered at their shared reflection, before the expression morphed into the same grin, warm and delighted, almost childlike. As if on cue, they leaned their heads together, cheek-to-cheek - and what the hell did it matter what tie he wore? Or if his clothes matched? What Aomine liked best was under them anyway.

"C'mon, stop primping and let's go." Aomine's nonchalant whistle lasted only until he reached the foyer. "Kise, which shoes -"

"I left them out already - the brown leather ones."

"Sweet, thanks!"

Kise took one last twirl in front of the mirror. Nope, none of his previous concerns remained - he was as perfectly dressed as could be. Now, if he could only do something about his nerves, though Kuroko had told him just to breathe and take it easy, that people and love didn't change just because they decided this was it, this was the _one_ , and then added a ring to the mix.

He winked at his own reflection, and checked his pocket one last time, just to be safe. "Wish me luck," he whispered to himself.

(As expected, he didn't need it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, they sound so married - why do they even need a ring?? (Stupid brain just wants stupid romantic things...)


	35. [KnB, GoMxKagami] 2017.10.10: these hours are vast as stretches of sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel (of sorts) to [that's not my name ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/739900/chapters/5449943). Akashi and Kagami have a chat about some _serious business_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago, a commenter (sdk2000) asked for snarky Akashi vs. Kuroko. I hope this scratches that itch...even if it's only for a bit...?
> 
> As this is a continuation of chapter 25, Akashi and Kagami are "married" and as thus, I made Akashi heir to Kagami's position in Kagami-dad's company on top of his shogi-playing. Maybe I'll actually elaborate on my headcanon for that someday...
> 
> The title is just a reflection of how I usually feel when I'm talking to my friends - that lazy feeling of the world spinning on forever.

The way the door _didn't_ slam before the pad of slippered feet came closer was a dead giveaway as to who it was. Kagami swayed his head back to loll against the top of the sofa just in time to receive the brush of lips against his temple, curling in amusement.

"You did not use your Emperor's Eye for that just now."

"That's for me to know, and you to guess." Which was as good as a yes, really. "Why aren't you asleep yet? It's past eleven, and I know you have a shift tomorrow."

"Why are you back so early? Board of directors didn't need extra shmoozing tonight?"

Akashi gave a sigh - a tiny, miniscule one - as he loosened his tie and slipped it over his head. He cast off his slippers at the edge of the carpet in a way that anyone else would define 'efficient'; Kagami could only see how exhausted that perfect motion was. Similarly, the way Akashi draped his coat over the edge of the table was too slow, too careful.

Kagami's hands were ready for their burden, even with Kise's head cushioned on his lap. Taking a precarious seat on the sofa arm, Akashi accepted the sideways hug without comment - another tell. If he actually started purring at the insistent rub of Kagami's thumb against one of the knots lodged in his back, Kagami would know something was wrong.

Thankfully, it seemed to be just the regular kind of tiredness today. Heads tucked together, they watched the blink of the TV in mute companionship.

"They really didn't give you any trouble today?"

This time he could feel Akashi's sigh through the top of his head. "Such concern. One would think you wanted the position back."

There was no response he could give but snort. "I'm sure behind those serious faces, they're rejoicing in the fact that they now have someone in command who actually knows what they're doing." Hell knew their advice to Kagami himself was a little too frequent and basic to be simply self-serving.

"You would have been a good CEO. That's why your father named you for the position."

"It would have taken me years to do it correctly. Why not give it to someone who actually gives a shit, comes pre-trained, _and_ enjoys it."

The press of lips on his temple, this time on the opposite side. Slow and lingering; Kagami's eyes fluttered, half-lidding in his enjoyment. "You give lots of shits about your parents' legacy. That's why you wanted to see it grow in good hands."

There - meeting the gleam of Akashi's level gaze was so much easier now compared to when they had first met. The glasses perched on the part-time shogi player's nose were still new, though Kagami was getting very accustomed to the plummeting, squeezing feeling as his stomach flipped and churned itself into knots at the sight. Undoubtedly his arousal showed, because Akashi's mouth curled into a self-satisfied smirk, halfway between _cat ate the canary_ and _we all know who's in control here_.

"You mean, the best hands possible." Kagami could barely get the words out.

This time the amusement ghosted through Akashi's eyes rather than on his lips. "I would never presume myself to have ascended to such a lofty position of expertise."

"You bastard, stop smiling. It's kinda creepy."

"What a blasphemous thing to say. I am completely straight-faced."

"You are. So. Weird."

They paused for a moment, just to grin at each other.

"Ryouta?"

"San Fran."

"I may have to take a business trip there soon," Akashi mused. "To smooth some ruffled American feathers." His gaze turned thoughtful. "Taiga, why don't you come with me?"

"Me? What good would I be at a business meeting? I could move the furniture, maybe."

Akashi _hmph_ 'ed in amusement. "What you always do. Show you're still a part of the proceedings. Invite them to pour their sharkish business acumen down upon your unworthy head."

A single finger hooked under the chain hidden by his shirt, drawing it out inch by inch. When it swung free, Akashi let it go. Two rings impacted gently against Kagami's collarbone.

"Prove there are forward thinkers, even at the highest level of management."

Kagami's smile twisted wryly. "One gay CEO marriage does not a liberal company make."

"And yet, I'm sure you've managed to make some people reconsider."

"Yeah, reconsider if moving elsewhere might not be that much trouble after all."

"Now, now. Your performance is all wrong. You're supposed to be the optimistic one."

"I've spent too much time around you."

Akashi's fingers stroked lovingly down the line of Kagami's neck. He shivered in response.

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'll mark you down for next month's trip, then? Of course, I'll square it with your station once the dates are finalized. Oh, and we should actually commission Ryouta this time."

Reflexively both peered down at the blond head in Kagami's lap, but Kise didn't even twitch, well and truly cocooned in his dreams. "You think they'd let him have that time off? After his company gave him that newcomer's award thing, they barely let him take off for that Okinawa trip last year."

"I'll talk to them." Which made this practically guaranteed.

Kagami snorted again. Vengefully Akashi jabbed him in the ribs - "How utterly uncouth, Taiga, really, I trained you better than this." - and Kagami poked him back until Akashi threatened to slide off. Perhaps Akashi was smiling too widely and inappropriately to consider proper personal space; for whatever reason, they were snuggled much tighter than before when Kagami rebalanced and reeled him back in.

"What would we even do with Kise at the wheel? He can't leave the thing on autopilot the whole time. We'd crash eventually."

"Are you misinterpreting my intentions, Taiga? How dare you. Clearly, I am talking about a serious business trip."

"Yeah, a trip to seriously taunt Kise out of his fucking mind. I'd wager you last month's salary that he won't last an hour before joining us in the mile high club, but I know you're not into sucker bets."

"Surely it wouldn't take an hour. Perhaps thirty minutes."

"Twenty, tops."

A new voice joined them. As usual, it was way too close, making Kagami jump. Akashi, he noted, didn't look at all alarmed.

"What's this about making fun of Kise-kun? If this is about his stamina, you should know he lasted a whole hour before he started begging."

"But you had to tie him down really good, right?" Kagami demanded, recovering from his surprise. "Otherwise he gets all wriggly and whiny and before you know it, he's free to pounce." Akashi raised an eyebrow as if to ask, _And what's so wrong with that?_ "I know he's quit the athlete carb diet, but really, he hasn't lost any weight at all!"

"Why are you complaining? I saw the results from your last health check, you should be able to bench press him, Kagami-kun."

"That doesn't mean I _want_ to bench press him. Much less for an hour!"

"We could reserve an unused part of the tarmac for our activities," Akashi cut in.

"So you _are_ admitting you only want me and Kise there for your own enjoyment!" Kagami grumbled. "What's the point of reserving Kise if we don't actually need him to fly anywhere? Couldn't we just do the kinky stuff at home?"

Kuroko's eyes gleamed in interest. "The two of you are going on a business trip together?"

"No." "Yes." Akashi leveled a superior look at the glowering fireman. "I have need of your skills, Taiga, just in case."

"What skills are you referring to, exactly?" Inwardly, Kagami groaned. Kuroko's interest only grew more pronounced. This was sounding more and more like something that would potentially require one of Midorima's deep tissue massages, or else he would be limping into work.

"Simply that of his endearing personality, though it sadly lacks the ability to keep up with higher level thinking."

"Hey," Kagami protested, but the one-syllable grunt went unheard as the two schemers continued to speak over his head.

"A polished businessman like Akashi-kun, accompanied by such a muscled assistant? Surely even you must think that looks suspiciously trope-like."

"To someone outside of the company, certainly. This trip is merely a...internal check-up of sorts. A pleasant surprise to make sure all the gears are in working order. I find it the perfect opportunity for some one-on-one attention. It's hardly anyone else's business who I bring, anyway."

"Then you would not object to _me_ posing as your personal secretary instead, then? Since it is summer vacation and all, and I've been feeling restless."

Akashi's look was arch and gleeful, to the people who knew him. He really loved nothing more than a challenge. "I'm afraid I'm insistent on Taiga, as he never fails to take all of my personal needs into consideration. And, similarly, never fails to take any failures onto his own body as punishment." Undoubtedly he felt Kagami squirm against the sofa, as the firefighter felt Akashi's latest set of marks flare under his clothes. "Pleasant punishment, as it is. I do ensure it is a learning process for the both of us. I'm afraid I must decline, Tetsuya, as I have no need of two personal assistants when one can do the job."

"Then I can be some other employee. A member of your human resources team, perhaps? This does seem like a potential case of worker harrassment."

Akashi's eyelashes lowered dangerously. "I would never mistreat Taiga so." One finger crept downward to slip loosely into Kagami's marriage band.

"That is a relief to hear. But I think I'd rather see the evidence laid out for all to see."

Akashi's ire subsided into faint mirth. "'All'? Don't you mean 'us'?"

"I will abide by whatever your valued staff feels most comfortable with."

Suddenly pinned by two anticipatory laser-stares, Kagami squirmed uncomfortably again, shoulders hunching as if to present a smaller target.

"Would you prefer for me to accompany you and Akashi-kun on your next excursion?"

"Wouldn't you much rather have Ryouta to yourself? Your shifts so rarely coincide nowadays, I'll put aside some time for just the two of you."

Kuroko glared, but it only seemed to boost Akashi's glee. "He can do whatever he likes with Kise-kun while they're both right here in this house," the teacher pouted.

"With you watching from the corner, undoubtedly."

"Please don't make me invoke a certain saying involving pots and kettles, Akashi-kun."

"I was merely reminding everyone present of the way you insist monopolizing _every last second_ of Taiga's free time. Speaking as a viewer on the sidelines, I must say it looks terribly draining."

"You have nothing to complain about. I am well aware of the fact that you appreciate the fruits of my labor and long-standing experience with Kagami-kun."

"I do. I must remind you, however, that in the end, you only met Taiga a half year before I did, so your claim on him falls rather flat."

Kuroko drew himself up to his full height - and imperiousness, something he had picked up from Akashi himself. Which made it look rather ridiculous, really - and it seemed like Akashi agreed, by the sloppy fondness that suddenly lopped off the predatory viciousness in Akashi's smile.

"My claim on the well-being of all of our employees is indisputable by even you, CEO-san. Not even you are above the laws of your own company." Apparently they were back on the role-play track.

"You try my patience, lowly servant."

"Sanctimonious drivel-spinner."

"Impertinent opportunist."

"Elite bastard. Can you even insult someone in less than three syllables."

"Certainly my parentage is none of your business. Stalker."

"Prick."

"Hmm, yes, I do admit I have somewhat of an elite prick."

There was a huff of laughter from the fifth person in the room, seated at the kotatsu. No less than seven stacks of medical texts surrounded Midorima, three of them already heavily bookmarked with tags and set aside. Undoubtedly he was in the middle of assisting one of Aomine's ongoing cases. The remains of a sandwich, reduced to crumbs, sat proudly on top of the tallest tower.

"Before you continue, don't you think you should confirm that your 'valued employee' still knows what you're talking about?" Midorima nodded at the main target of their conversation.

Kagami scratched his head at the question. "So...is Kise coming with us or not?"

"Whassgonnonnnn?" Kise slurred from his horizontal position. At some point in the conversation he had turned so he would be in a precarious position indeed if there was no cushion between him and Kagami's lap. As it was, both the cushion and his own muddled jetlag meant he was less than ready to jump on this golden opportunity.

Which was too bad, because with the way he looked - hair floofed to one side, eyes hazy, the cushion's floral theme imprinted on one cheek - would have made any girl's heart go pitter-pat, much less the hearts of those who already loved him.

"If you are going to San Francisco, you're not leaving without me," Kuroko said decisively.

"What will you give me in return?"

"Why do I have to give you anything? You'll have both Kagami-kun and me present."

"You think you can assist me in training a new bodyguard, Tetsuya? I don't know if your hand will be firm enough to discipline him with. Your personal feelings might get in the way, given your colorful past together."

Kuroko's eyes glinted. "I'll prove to you I can be the assistant you need."

"Why're you becoming Akashicchi's assistant?" Kise mumbled, confused. He settled back down as Kagami started to pet his hair again, uttering a sleepy murmur of "An'm'hungry" escaping before drifting off.

Akashi glanced downwards - just a quick flick of his eyes - at the blond head in Kagami's lap, as he traced one finger down Kagami's ear and neck, before it tucked under the lip of his shirt. Seeing as it was on Kuroko's side, the phantom sixth man hadn't missed it either, but all Kuroko did was breathe in a little deeper, as if he could absorb through osmosis what was coming.

"I only surround myself with the best things. You think you're worthy of such a position? As for Taiga, I'm certain he's a diamond in the rough - he just needs polish and the right setting before we'll bring each other to new heights."

"I will gladly prove to you then, CEO-san, that I know exactly how to make Kagami-kun look his best."

Akashi's lip curled, faintly mocking, but little by little, it smoothed into that familiar warmth that included Kuroko and Kagami, rather than building a wall to keep them out. "I look forward to the challenge, assistant Kuroko," he lowered his voice to something inviting and burnished as flame.

"So I'm just...chopped liver, I guess," Kagami mumbled, still puzzled, and blushed furiously when Midorima laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for dialogue fic. 'S'good practice! Thanks for sticking with me to the end <3


	36. [KnB, KagaKuro] 2017.10.23: There is a hunger which is always new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Kuroko sees hallucinations. Just the one for now - of there being a black skeleton hand clenched around Kagami's heart.
> 
> *Please beware there is a tiny little bit of blood and gore in here. Probably safe, but just a warning in case for those with triggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So this was just a passing idea that I couldn't let go. Just a short little thing to pass the time (for me and you). Also perfect for the season and right on time for Halloween! It's even during KagaKuro AU Month on tumblr! *so proud of self for actually being on time for once*
> 
> Also, if you are seeing things you're not sure are there, please don't be like Kuroko and go see a doctor. Please.

2017.10.23: There is a hunger which is always new.

In the space between sleep and awake, the first and last thing Kuroko saw was the hand. He always imagined how it might have looked when it snapped firmly into place around Kagami's heart.

There was a time when it wasn't there, of course. It hadn't been there at the start of their acquaintance, on the first day of club activities when Coach had told them all to take off their shirts. It wasn't until later that he had seen it, black, skeletal knuckles poking out of Kagami's chest, wrapped around something that glowed red and throbbed steadily. Sometimes when they were on the court he thought he could see how it squeeze the rhythm out of his teammate's pulse. He thought it looked painful.

But when he asked Kagami, the redhead told him he didn't know what Kuroko was going on about. "A hand?" he frowned. "What hand? I don't have any shirts with skeletons or hands."

That was redundant information by that point. He had been in Kagami's room before in search of a shirt that wouldn't hang down to his knees. They had gone to the _sentou_ just earlier, where Kuroko had demonstrated the correct method of washing someone's back.

In the middle of the bath, the hand had twisted so its palm was facing Kuroko, who froze in the middle of sudsing Kagami's shoulder blades. As he watched, it slowly lifted one bony finger to point straight at him while the rest of the fingers remained clenched around the slow, relaxed beat of Kagami's heart. The redhead had grunted, absently rubbing the front of his chest; as if in a dream, Kuroko had slowly reached out to touch.

He was jolted back to reality when his basketball callouses impacted with dry, blackened bone and joint. Slowly it retracted back into Kagami's chest. Once it was there, Kuroko couldn't reach it anymore; he only felt the smooth expanse of Kagami's back, the nubby hills of Kagami's spine. Those planes of skin that became dearer and dearer to Kuroko by the day.

He had searched online until he fell asleep at his computer, and trudged to school the next day, eyes red-rimmed and drooping. But no matter how hard he looked, it didn't seem like anyone had witnessed any phenomenon like this. For a while he wondered if he should see a doctor, as it seemed like recurring hallucinations were the ones that were the most dangerous. But in the end he remembered how it had felt, how real it had been. He didn't want to believe there was something wrong with himself.

It wasn't so bad when it was covered by a shirt. Which was really the only reason why Kuroko survived high school and college without going crazy. It was only when they graduated from locker room kisses and using Kagami as a convenient couch to watch NBA games from that it became a problem. Because with every move they made, he could see how hard Kagami's heart would flutter against the fingers that caged it, struggle so hard against the confinement it was a miracle it didn't burst right there.

"It - it has to hurt," Kuroko gasped, split between desire and horror. He wanted so badly to continue - and yet he couldn't help but say something. He wanted to consummate this fully, he wanted to belong to Kagami already - and yet, if he was causing Kagami pain every single time, he would rather just hold Kagami's hand for the rest of his life.

"W-what hurts?" Kagami panted. The more mercilessly the fingers clenched, the faster Kagami's hips drummed into Kuroko, the angle making Kuroko's nerves sing and fireworks explode against the backs of his eyelids. But a moment later the words registered, and he immediately backed off. "What's wrong? Shit, did I hurt you? I didn't mean to, I swear!"

Kuroko's eyes were locked on Kagami's chest, where he could see the fingers had gripped so hard they had torn through tissue. Now Kagami's heart dribbled little rivulets of blood, throbbing sluggish and limp in the palm of the black hand.

Kagami looked terrified. The whites of his eyes showed all around the iris, a far cry from the blown-pupil gaze in the heat of the moment. His hands hovered at Kuroko's arms as if they couldn't decide where to go, or if the embrace would be welcome. Which was silly, because Kuroko had often declared Kagami's hugs the best in the world, right up there with his forehead kisses.

In this situation, there was only one thing he could do.

"Do you have a scarf, Kagami-kun? Could you please tie it behind my head?"

It was funny, then, how love literally forced him to be blind. He knew Kagami had questions, that there were times when he opened his mouth to ask once and for all - and before that happened, Kuroko concocted a million answers to a million iterations of the same query.

When it finally came, though, it was not at all the question Kuroko had been expecting. "Will you just tell me? If you're really seeing me when we're together? I promise I won't get mad - just tell me if it's someone else. Is it Aomine you're seeing in your head? Kise? Akashi?"

He could only parrot the truth over and over: "Please don't worry, Kagami-kun. There's no one I see but you."

The question stung. Did Kagami think so little of his fidelity? He resolved that night to prove it to the both of them: to Kagami, that he really did want this; to himself, that he really could overcome anything, as long as Kagami was with him.

Just like that, things changed again. Though the blindfold had heightened physical sensations, with it off, he could look into Kagami's eyes, and let Kagami fully see how affected he was. They weren't fumbling in the dark any longer; he could see the places they clawed at each other, the splotchy red imprints where mouths had bitten and sucked. The flutter of Kagami's eyes as they rolled back and he spilled, helplessly carried away by the tide, as need roared through his veins and drenched the hand in his chest a gushing red. It spasmed after Kagami came, great crushing clamps uncaring of how it might hurt, nails driving deep into the chambers of Kagami's heart, chewing through muscle and sinew until there was no way to tell what was Kagami's flesh and what was the hand. Kuroko could only watch this destruction and hang on for his life as he followed Kagami over the edge.

They laid there for a bit of a break, Kuroko's eyes locked on the rise and fall of Kagami's breath. The instant Kuroko said, "I love you," and saw the bony fingers twitch so tissue split and overflowed, he knew that skeleton hand could only be his own.

"I love you, too," Kagami replied. Once he caught Kuroko's eye, he held it, as if unable to look away. Perhaps that was to be expected, seeing how inseparable they now were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahaha, hope this gave you weird chills (more like weird fluff)! Thanks for reading!


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